


En Garde Your Heart

by PeppyBismilk



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Fencing, Friendship, M/M, Making Out, Parties, Romance, Self Confidence, Seung-gil has a lot of tattoos, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Social Media, Tagging as I go, That’s my elevator pitch, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:35:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 40,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23517787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeppyBismilk/pseuds/PeppyBismilk
Summary: Everyone who knows anything about fencing has heard of Viktor Nikiforov, and no one looks up to him more than Yuuri. But an idol is a poor substitute for confidence, and if Yuuri’s fencing career is all about defeating Viktor, what’s left when that’s no longer an option?Phichit has a positive outlook, plenty of talent, and confidence to spare—not to mention a legion of online followers. The only thing that makes him happier than fencing is supporting his friends, but Phichit can only ignore his own problems for so long before something has to give.Or, Classes, fencing, social life: pick two.---Reposted after a long, long break.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Phichit Chulanont & Katsuki Yuuri, Phichit Chulanont/Lee Seung Gil
Comments: 145
Kudos: 113





	1. A Little Luck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri had been dreaming of facing Viktor on the piste his whole life, but that didn’t mean he was ready when it finally happened.

Yuuri Katsuki had always had terrible luck, but today was a new low.

The day had started off on a high note. He was finally 13, old enough to enter open fencing tournaments. He wasn’t expecting to dominate, but Yuuko said he had a good shot at winning a bout or two. 

All that hope evaporated the moment he found out who his first opponent would be.

Everyone in New England who knew anything about fencing knew Viktor Nikiforov’s name, and the boy was only 15 years old. Yuuri knew him for his wildfire speed and impeccable form, but also for his flowing hair, so light it was almost silver.

Competing against Viktor Nikiforov was Yuuri’s dream, but he had wanted to dream it a little longer before it happened. He wasn’t ready. He was going to choke.

He saluted Viktor automatically, but all of his higher functions went numb. 

The bout was over before it started, and Yuuri hadn’t landed a single hit.

They saluted the end of the match and Viktor took off his helmet, flipping his ponytail behind his head with a huge smile. The world around Yuuri slowly came back into focus as he removed his own helmet. He had no idea Viktor’s eyes were as blue as a summer sky, and now, faced with that fact, he was supposed to shake Viktor’s hand?! If he fainted, he wouldn’t have to do it. Yuuri took a shaky step forward and his knees threatened to give out.

“That was exhilarating! Thank you for a wonderful match! I look forward to facing you again,” Viktor said, extending a hand. Yuuri reciprocated, skin tingling at the contact. 

“Good match,” Yuuri mumbled. “Thanks.”

Viktor squeezed his hand and for a second, all Yuuri could think was that losing was worth it, just for a handshake. 

But touching Viktor’s hand wasn’t the only reason for his goosebumps. He needed to train harder, because the next time they faced off, Yuuri wanted to win.

Whenever Yuuri wasn’t asleep or in school, he was practicing at the gym with his mom’s old friend Minako. It wasn’t an official coaching arrangement since she was busy with competitions of her own, but for some reason, she had taken a liking to him. Yuuri rose through the ranks of his club quickly under her tutelage, but there wasn’t that far to go since most members preferred foil or épée to sabre. 

Yuuri didn’t see Viktor again until the 2012 Olympic Games, and only on his television. At just 16, Viktor was one of the youngest competitors. His movements were sharper, and his hair was even longer. 

Viktor placed an incredible 6th in the Men’s Individual Sabre, and Yuuri cried tears of joy when the Russians took gold in the team event. Viktor had a gold medal and he wasn’t even in college yet. 

It lit a fire under Yuuri, and he had to get back to work, to train even harder. His parents (and sometimes Mari) shuffled him from tournament to tournament, and before long, Yuuri had a few medals of his own. Nothing too impressive, just regional and national events. 

It wasn’t until he was 17 that he entered his first international tournament. His heart raced when he saw  _ Viktor Nikiforov _ on the roster yet again. Viktor was surrounded by a cluster of fans and photographers whenever he wasn’t fencing, leaving Yuuri with only a glimpse of that silver ponytail. But he would see Viktor when they fought, and Viktor would see how far he’d come.

Before their bout, Viktor’s face was cold— _focused_ , Yuuri amended. 

This time, Yuuri was ready for him.

They saluted, and the match began. Yuuri attacked with a shout and the buzzer went off. When the ringing in his ears cleared, it hit him.

He was the first person to land a hit on Viktor Nikiforov since the Olympic Games. 

Viktor gasped and Yuuri smirked, even though no one could see.  _ See how much I’ve learned, Viktor? _

Viktor’s whole demeanor changed. He rolled his shoulders and shook out his arms, tilting his head cockily. He was taking Yuuri seriously now. It made Yuuri want to fight harder. Once more, they assumed the position, and the battle resumed.

In the end, Viktor defeated him by just two points, and it was the best match of Yuuri’s career by a longshot.

They finished with a salute, and Viktor was glowing with more than sweat when he removed his helmet. 

“Amazing!” he cried, clasping Yuuri’s hand before shaking it. “Where did you come from? I’ve never had such an exhilarating match in my life!”

Yuuri’s words of congratulations died on his lips. Viktor didn’t remember him? 

_ Of course he doesn’t. You’re nothing to him. He’s an Olympian.  _ “Thanks,” Yuuri mumbled out of habit. 

Viktor raved on, not noticing how Yuuri's shoulders sagged. “How old are you? Has anyone from Sacre Coeur contacted you? It’s my university, you know.” Yuuri knew. Everyone knew Viktor went there. Yuuko went there, too, and she sent him blurry pictures of Viktor whenever he appeared on campus. A recruiter had contacted Yuuri, but he had assumed it was just a favor to Yuuko because there was no way he was good enough. “You should apply! You’d make an excellent addition to the team.”

Yuuri nodded but didn’t really register the words. Viktor probably said things like that to everyone. 

Yuuri ended up placing 12th. Viktor, of course, took first place. 

Somehow, Sacre Coeur offered Yuuri a full ride, and he accepted, majoring in English and spending all his spare time fencing. 

Viktor spoke all of four words to Yuuri during his freshman year: “Welcome to the team.” He had a pleasant enough smile on his face every time Yuuri saw him, but he never hung around for long. Though Viktor was just a junior, he was juggling Olympic qualifiers, extra practices, and engagements for his sponsorships. Yuuri wondered when he found time to go to class. 

At the end of his freshman year, Yuuri had good grades and a decent win percentage, but he couldn’t say he had made any friends. He lived in a dorm suite with two of his teammates, Christophe Giacometti and Ketty  Abelashvili , but Yuuri didn’t know much about them outside of fencing. 

Chris tried, but he was always licking his lips and saying things like, “Can’t I entice you to come dancing? I’m dying to see what you can do off the strip,” and Yuuri wasn’t interested in anything like that. 

The truth was, Yuuri had taken dance classes (at Minako’s urging) for years to help with his fencing. But there was homework and practice, and Chris was probably just joking around. 

Ketty’s invitations were more friendly than flirty, but Yuuri never hung out with her, either. Yuuko tried, too, but hanging out with her meant hanging out with Takeshi, and Yuuri just felt like a third wheel. They probably wanted to be alone. 

Besides, all of them were only inviting him out of pity. The team saw more than enough of him at practice and competitions (even though Yuuri didn’t hang out with his teammates there, either).

Head Coach Yakov was too focused on Viktor and the upperclassmen to worry about a freshman, so Yuuri spent most of his time working with one of the assistant coaches, Celestino Cialdini. Celestino was full of kind words and encouragement, but he specialized in foil training, so there was only so much he could do for Yuuri. 

Even though they were teammates, Yuuri followed Viktor’s career as a quiet spectator. When Viktor once again qualified for the Olympics, Yuuri’s heart sang, but he didn’t dare congratulate Viktor in person. He couldn’t. They saw each other so rarely that Viktor had probably forgotten him again.

As soon as Yuuri heard there would be a party to honor Viktor and the other Olympic delegates from their school, he started thinking of ways to get out of it. 

He came up empty.

Chris came to his rescue the night of the party.

“As much as I’d like to kiss Viktor’s ass, I’ve had enough figurative ass-kissing for one year, haven’t you?” Chris’s rhetorical question came with an entire bottle of cognac.

Yuuri was happy to continue to kiss Viktor’s figurative ass from a distance, but he couldn’t face him in person. 

“I didn’t make the team,” Chris went on. 

“You still had a great season,” Yuuri pointed out. 

“I suppose.” Chris opened the bottle, took a swig, and passed it to Yuuri. Yuuri didn’t have much experience with alcohol, but he took it anyway. 

“I didn’t qualify, either. There’s always next time.” Yuuri mimicked Chris. The liquor was sweet but it still burned his throat. Yuuri coughed, wishing he had some water to wash it down. 

Chris laughed. “First time? I should have been gentler with you.”

Yuuri narrowed his eyes—he never could back down from a challenge—and took another, larger drink. This time, he was ready. He swallowed and wiped the corners of his lips. Chris’s eyebrows went up. 

“You were saying?” Yuuri challenged. Not to be outdone, Chris snatched the bottle for another drink. 

“So, what’ve you got against Viktor?” Chris asked, one corner of his mouth quirked up. “Still smarting from the time he beat you by two points?”

Yuuri thought about that match a lot—he could still remember Viktor’s gasp, even dreamed about it sometimes—but he was surprised that Chris knew about it. 

“Not jealous,” Yuuri said, shaking his head. “But that party’ll be crowded enough without me there.”

Chris smiled at him, taking another quick sip before passing the bottle back. “Then it’s their loss, because I’m certainly enjoying your company.” 

“It must be hard,” said Yuuri, ignoring Chris’s comment. “He competes twice as much as the rest of us, not to mention all the photoshoots and meetings. And he still has to go to school. I bet he never gets a chance to breathe.”

Chris frowned. “Hey, whose side are you on? We’re supposed to be feeling sorry for ourselves here.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Yuuri laughed and more cognac disappeared. Everything seemed funnier now. Why was he so afraid of Viktor? He was just a person, a person who probably didn’t have a whole lot of free will.

“You’re right, of course,” Chris sighed. He put a hand on Yuuri’s thigh. “You’re so smart, Yuuri Katsuki. Not to mention devilishly handsome.” 

Yuuri flushed. “Chris…”

“Obviously, I’m jealous of Viktor,” Chris went on. “He has the life I want, and don’t think I haven’t seen the way you look at him.”

Yuuri placed his hand on top of Chris’s. He was going to move it from his lap, but Chris’s skin was soft. “How do I look at him?” 

Chris parted his lips and batted his eyelashes—they were incredibly long, so long they curled up at the ends. Maybe he curled them like Mari did. “Something like this,” Chris said softly. “But Viktor doesn’t notice anyone who isn’t in full gear, does he?”

Yuuri chuckled. Chris was right about Viktor, but he was right about Yuuri, too. 

“At least he acknowledges you,” Yuuri began, idly wondering when the bottle in his hand had gotten so drained. “I got paired up with him in my very first open tournament, but the next time—the time he beat me by  _ two stinking points,  _ do you know what I found out?” Yuuri didn’t wait for Chris to answer. “He didn’t even remember me. Of course he didn’t. Who would remember me?"

“You, Yuuri, are unforgettable,” Chris said, so close Yuuri could feel breath on his lips. 

Chris’s lips tasted as nice as they looked, Yuuri decided, and they were softer than his hands. And those lips of his did all the right things. Chris kissed slowly, neither too wet nor too dry, confident but not forceful, dropping hints that there could be tongue if Yuuri wanted it. Objectively, it was the best kiss of Yuuri’s life, but… 

Chris pulled away, eyes and lips shining. He understood. “What say you and I crash that party and show Viktor just how unforgettable you are?”

Yuuri licked his lips and swallowed before answering. “You can’t crash a party you were invited to.”

“Care to wager on that?” And with a smirk, Chris downed half of the remaining cognac in one go. He held the bottle out to Yuuri, giving it a little wiggle. Finishing it was probably a bad idea. Mari said that hangovers were the worst. Like having the flu, only there was no virus to blame. But it had been a long year. Yuuri took the bottle and polished it off, Chris smiling proudly all the while.

He and Chris walked to Viktor’s house—but was it really Viktor’s? This place was too big. Did Viktor live alone? Yuuri wasn’t even sure it was the right place until he saw the entire fencing team there, men and women.

Georgi Popovich was the first to greet them. He had an arm around Anya, the star of the women’s team. “You both know Anya, right? Anya is going to the Olympics this summer. Isn’t she amazing? You’re going to support her, aren’t you?” 

“Of course,” said Yuuri. “Good luck, Anya!”

Chris smiled at her. “Bring home the gold.”

“Thank you.” Anya gave a polite nod and Yuuri suspected she didn’t know either of their names. She turned back to her friends without another word.

There were no coaches in sight and Yuuri didn’t see Viktor, but there was plenty of alcohol. He lost track of Chris quickly, but he found lots of familiar faces.

Ketty bumped into Yuuri in the hallway and hugged him. “Yuuri! I didn’t think you were coming!” 

“Me neither!” Yuuri cried, returning the hug only briefly. 

“You look like you’re on a mission,” said Ketty. “I’ll catch you later!”

Yuuri didn’t have a mission, but he made his way deeper into the house. 

“Yuuri!” Yuuko called from where she was dancing with Takeshi in the next room. “There you are! Come dance with us!”

Yuuri couldn’t say no to Yuuko, and it was a good song. He danced the rest of it with her and Takeshi, but the next song was slower and she and Takeshi danced closer. Yuuri continued on his adventure, still not sure where he was headed. 

Most of the senior members of the team greeted him, and Yuuri was mildly surprised that they knew who he was. He made idle conversation until he realized he had to use the bathroom—maybe that was his destination. He found his way upstairs and checked a room. No toilet. Not a bathroom. And someone was in there, curled up on the bed in the fetal position. 

“Sorry!” Yuuri cried before ducking out.

The most beautiful voice in the world rang out from inside the room. “Yuuri?”

_ Viktor! _ Viktor was curled up in a ball on the bed! How could Yuuri deny him in his time of need? He rushed back in. “Are you okay? Why are you hiding from your own party?”

Viktor was sitting up now, long hair hanging in his face and shoulders drooping. He still looked gorgeous, but Yuuri had never seen him look anything but polished. It was almost sobering.

Almost. Half a bottle of cognac was a lot of alcohol.

“Hiding?” Viktor echoed, looking up. “I suppose that’s fair.”

Emboldened, Yuuri sat down next to him on the bed. Vodka sloshed in a capped bottle between them. Mari was wrong—drinking was the  _ best. _ Yuuri had never been this close to Viktor off the piste before. 

“Sorry I’m late,” Yuuri said, even though Viktor probably hadn’t noticed. 

“I’m just glad you came. You missed the cake, and the singing.” Viktor paused to cringe, and Yuuri wondered how much of that vodka Viktor had drank. “ _For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow_ and all that jazz.”

Even just half singing, Viktor had a nice voice, but Yuuri didn’t say so. Viktor didn’t seem like he was in the mood to be gushed at. 

“It’s not just  _ my _ party, you know,” Viktor went on, “but people keep acting like it is.”

Yuuri nodded. “Well, you are Viktor Nikiforov, Sacre Coeur’s number one most talented—”

“Meal ticket?” Viktor offered. 

Yuuri was going to say  _ fencer _ , but Viktor looked so sad that Yuuri couldn’t even be proud of himself for not adding superlatives like  _ sexiest and most handsome _ .

Sounding almost mocking, Viktor added, “Viktor Nikiforov, soon to be two-time Olympian and gold medal favorite.”

“Wow, Viktor, do you even want to go to Rio?” Yuuri meant it as a joke, even though it wasn’t very funny. He blamed the cognac. Maybe alcohol wasn’t the best thing ever. It made him forget his place.

Sucking in a deep breath, Viktor curled his legs up to sit cross-legged on the bed. “I don’t.” Then, he started laughing, but Yuuri could tell it wasn’t because of his joke. “I don’t want to go. Wow. It feels good to say that out loud.”

Yuuri blinked. “Wait, really?” He couldn’t imagine not wanting to go to the Olympics, but it was all over Viktor’s face.

Viktor clutched the neck of his vodka bottle with one hand but didn’t open it. “Fencing hasn’t been fun for me for a long time now. I go in, I suit up, I win. New sponsor, new contract, new obligations. It’s exhausting.” He blew some hair out of his face. “Boring.”

_Boring?_ Viktor ate, slept, and breathed fencing, even though it  _ bored _ him?

“I didn’t even get to choose my own major. Yakov made an independent study plan for me so I don’t have to go to classes.” Viktor made air quotes and said, “ _Interdisciplinary Studies_. I show up for a gimme exam, pass, and everyone’s happy.”

“Everyone but you,” Yuuri said.

Viktor sighed. “I know people would kill to be in my shoes. But they don’t know how much I’ve given up…” 

He didn’t have specific examples, but Yuuri’s heart ached for him just the same. Guilt soured his stomach. How could he have ever assumed Viktor had a perfect life?

“Then why are you going?” Yuuri wondered. “You don’t have to go just because you qualified.”

Viktor blinked at him as if the words didn’t register, then smiled, small and sad. “Oh, but I do. Yakov, the team, the school—hell, even Russia is counting on me.”

“But you don’t want to go.”

Another laugh. “It’s not that simple,” said Viktor. “The team needs the funding. The school needs the funding.”

Yuuri shook his head, repeating, “But you don’t want to go.” 

“What I want doesn’t matter.” Viktor let out a sigh. “I must sound so ungrateful.”

“You don’t. When’s the last time you had a break? When’s the last time you did something just because you wanted to?”

Viktor looked at Yuuri for a long time, like these were difficult questions. The room started spinning any time Yuuri looked away from those brilliant blue eyes, so he held Viktor’s gaze.

“You know, I can’t remember.” And this time, Viktor’s laugh was real, not bitter or sad or forced. It was beautiful. “It’s nice to talk about this with someone. But I’m surprised it’s you.”

“Because you have no idea who I am?” Yuuri supplied, chuckling.

Viktor shook his head. “Because you’re always so serious. I hear you don’t do anything but fence and study.”

“ _I’m_ serious?!” Yuuri countered even as his brain glossed over the fact that Viktor had heard rumors about him. “All  _ you _ do is fence. You just said so yourself!”

“But that’s me. You didn’t even qualify for the Olympics,” Viktor said. 

It was mean, but Yuuri just laughed. Viktor was  _ funny.  _ Why hadn’t they talked sooner? He was so easy to talk to.

“Well, you should at least enjoy your own party,” said Yuuri. He seized Viktor’s hand. Viktor gasped, just like the second time they faced off. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

“I suppose you’re right. No need to keep hiding in my spare room.”

Yuuri looked around. “You don’t really live here, do you?” 

“I do,” Viktor said with a snort, the first indication that he was very drunk, too. Everyone at Sacre Coeur had to live on campus, but apparently, Viktor was even more special than Yuuri knew. “Georgi and Anya stole my room.”

He stuck out his lower lip and grabbed the vodka, but Yuuri snatched it away and tossed it aside.

“But Yuuri!” Viktor whined. “I’m so lonely!”

How could he be lonely when he was never alone? Yuuri shook his head and stood, pulling Viktor with him. Blood rushed his brain but he shook it off. “No more vodka. Let’s go dance.”

Viktor was blushing—he had to be utterly wasted—but he nodded and followed Yuuri downstairs. 

“Viktor!” a chorus of voices greeted him. Viktor smiled and waved without dropping Yuuri’s hand. The living room was packed, but Yuuri didn’t mind the crowd because everyone was dancing. He danced with Chris, then Ketty, then Yuuko, and then he and Viktor were dancing together, twirling and laughing until they could barely breathe. 

The piste might have been Viktor’s domain but the dance floor was Yuuri’s, and he was going to show Viktor how it was done. Viktor had a hard time keeping up, but Yuuri had never seen him let go like this. And as for Yuuri? He was having the time of his life.

No matter what else happened, he had gotten a taste of Viktor’s full, undivided attention tonight and he was never giving it back. 

“If you really want to help the team, you should coach me.” The words bubbled out of Yuuri. “I’ll do my best for you, Viktor! I always do.”

Viktor didn’t reply. Maybe he couldn’t hear Yuuri over the music, but he looked a whole lot drunker, and Yuuri felt a lot less coordinated. 

Yuuri had never stayed out this late for anything but studying, but that night, he, Ketty, and Chris stumbled back to the dorm, snuck past the RA, and crashed in their rooms.

When Yuuri woke up in the morning, his head throbbed, and the last thing he remembered was a cognac-flavored kiss with Chris. He had missed Viktor’s party, and missed his only chance to wish him good luck before the Olympics. In a matter of hours, Yuuri would be driving home for the summer. 

Viktor didn’t need his well-wishes, but it would have been nice to give them. 

Yuuri spent his summer practicing and helping out in his parents’ hotel. Nothing exciting happened until Viktor dominated the Men’s Individual Sabre event at the Olympics. When he secured the gold, Yuuri cheered so loudly that his sister popped into the living room to make sure he was okay. 

Tears streamed from Yuuri’s eyes when Viktor received his medal, but Viktor didn’t cry. He smiled the same smile he wore at practices and meets. Part of Yuuri was envious of Viktor’s ability to keep his emotions in check, but part of him wondered if Viktor was just so used to winning that it didn’t mean anything anymore.

That couldn’t be right. Yuuri didn’t know the first thing about Viktor Nikiforov beyond what he had read online and witnessed from across the room at club practice, and he never would.

Next year would be exactly like the year before. He could be happy for Viktor from a distance, and Viktor could go on living both their dreams. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, I am so sorry for deleting this story. But with everything going on in the world right now, it felt like the right time to riposte (lol) and I hope this fic amuses someone either again or for the first time. I've made a few edits, but I ended up keeping most of the story the same. 
> 
> Chapter 2 (and Phichit!) will be coming soon. The rating is M now to avoid a bait and switch later on, but the first several chapters are solidly T, and I'll be adding tags as I go.
> 
> Thanks to my original beta readers, [Songbirdsara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Songbirdsara/) and [Ladyofthefl0wers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladyofthefl0wers), and thanks to you for reading!


	2. A Little Confidence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phichit has a lot of things going for him, but when it comes to fencing, he's still a big fish in a small pond.

Phichit Chulanont had always believed in the power of a positive outlook. His parents had raised him to work hard and try his best, but it never hurt to stack the deck with a little optimism. 

So far, it was working for him. Phichit was one of the most popular kids in his high school, he was the top ranked senior foil fencer in his (admittedly small) club, and, if he counted the Sacramento Fencing Society Instagram account as well as his personal one, he had enough online followers to be considered an influencer.

Just when it seemed like things couldn’t get any better, multiple university recruiters came knocking. “I’m really leaning toward Sacre-Coeur,” Phichit announced to Cute Boyfriend Adrian (another thing Phichit had going for him). 

“Seriously?” Adrian rolled his eyes. “Just because that one Olympian goes there doesn’t mean they have a better fencing team than Cal-Eng.”

Phichit frowned. “What Olympian?” Lots of Olympic fencers went to both schools.

“The one with the hair,” Adrian replied, gesturing down past his shoulders. “Viktor something.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about, but you have nothing to worry about,” said Phichit. Even jealousy looked cute on Adrian. “I just like their PR program better.”

“Right.” Adrian let out a sigh. “I just don’t know why you need to major in Public Relations when you already have a million followers.”

“Because there’s more to it than just running an Instagram account?” And while Phichit’s 20,000 followers were nothing to sneeze at, if a college degree got him to a million, it would be more than worth it. “Besides,” he added, “it’ll be fun to go away to school!”

Adrian pouted. “But you’ll have to switch clubs.”

“But you know a piece of me will always be a Sactown fencer.” Phichit threw in a hug for extra reassurance. Branching out was a good thing, and Adrian would understand next year when he went off to college, too. “Besides, I’m bequeathing the account to you, so I know it’ll be in good hands."

And by graduation, Phichit had added a full ride to Sacre-Coeur to his list of good things, but he had subtracted one cute boyfriend. More accurately, Phichit had been dumped, but he made the best of that too, occupying any free time during his last weeks of high school with good friends and fencing (while avoiding Adrian).

Phichit’s own likes-per-post had gone down now that he no longer had a cute boyfriend, but of course he wasn’t upset about that. He wished Adrian the best, and even though they weren’t dating anymore, Phichit didn’t trust anyone else to run the SFS account.

That didn’t mean Phichit was ready to let it go completely. He figured he’d help Adrian get on his feet for the first few months and then taper off once his college classwork picked up. For the sake of his ex-boyfriend and ex-club.

Phichit checked his personal account first, but when he tried to switch to sacfencing, the app asked for his password. Strange. Phichit typed it in anyway.

_ The password you entered is not correct. Please try again. _

“Huh?”

He tried again—no difference—and when he tried to recover the password, he couldn’t even get into the team email account. The email account he had set up himself.

Phichit’s heart sank.

Adrian had locked him out. Well, that was his right. It was his account now.

Looking back, Phichit probably should have been a bit more sensitive about moving thousands of miles away from his boyfriend for college. It wouldn’t have changed his decision, but maybe Adrian would have warned him the lockout was coming.

That account was Phichit’s baby. He had raised it from nothing and turned it into the best source for information about fencing on the West Coast, not to mention the go-to account for fencing memes and motivation. It was the envy of all other fencing clubs in the world.

Maybe he was overreacting. Really, Phichit should have been more upset about breaking up with Adrian than he was about losing an Instagram account, but the further he got from it, the more he wondered; had they ever had any chemistry? A spark? Or had it just been about appearances and likes? 

Phichit probably needed to give that some more thought, but he switched back to his personal account instead. At least Adrian wasn’t petty enough to block him from following the fencing club. Phichit cringed at the most recent update—the lighting was all wrong and there was nothing interesting about the picture.

He liked it anyway.

Maybe a clean slate was what he needed. Sacre-Coeur’s social media presence was lacking and Phichit already had a plan to remedy that.

Still, he checked the sacfencing page multiple times a day over the summer. Down ten followers, up two, down one, down three, why hadn’t Adrian posted anything in two whole days? Down five more... Phichit was going to have to find something else to do with all this energy.

The Olympics helped distract him. Phichit had forgotten all about  _ Viktor something with the hair  _ until the fencing events began. Suddenly, he understood why Adrian had been nervous. Viktor Nikiforov was gorgeous. Not really Phichit’s type—though he looked a lot hotter when he fenced. Viktor was unflappable, not to mention faster than anyone Phichit had ever seen. That gold medal (Viktor’s second) was all but guaranteed.

Viktor had even more followers than Phichit—and one more after Phichit followed him. Why hadn’t Phichit made the connection sooner? He had studied the Sacre-Coeur roster and learned everyone’s names, but he’d been more interested in learning about his future roommate than his future captain. 

There wasn’t nearly as much information available on Yuuri Katsuki, but Phichit had learned that he was a sophomore who had grown up in New York. Disappointing social media presence, but impressive fencing record. Just missed out on the Olympics after a few losses, but no less inspiring.

They had exchanged a few emails and texts, and Phichit found him refreshingly honest and focused, if a little self-deprecating.

When Phichit had asked why he was rooming with a freshman, Yuuri had responded,  _ I was so busy with school and fencing that I sort of forgot to sign up until the last minute. (^_^;) _

They were definitely going to get along. 

The road trip to school was the perfect send-off; three days trapped in his Prius with his parents and sister had him itching to be on his own (though he still got choked up seeing them off at the airport the next morning).

He made friends at freshman orientation, but even though they hadn’t met in person yet, his dorm room felt strangely empty without Yuuri. And maybe some hamsters.

Phichit was in the middle of unpacking when there was a soft knock at the door. Of course Yuuri was the type to knock on his own door. He looked just like his picture on the school website—like he wasn’t quite ready when the photographer said “cheese.” He was adorable.

“Yuuri!” Phichit grinned at him. “I’m so happy to finally meet you in person!”

Yuuri smiled, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. “You must be Phichit. Did I say that right?”

“Perfect!” Phichit positioned himself at Yuuri’s side and snapped a picture. “First roommate selfie! Okay if I post it?”

“Um, sure,” Yuuri said, putting his suitcase down.

“Can I tag you?” Phichit had followed Yuuri the moment the roommate assignments had gone out, and even though Yuuri didn’t post much, he had returned the gesture.

“Okay.” Yuuri turned back to his suitcase and started to unpack.

“Why doesn’t the fencing team have real social media accounts?” Phichit wondered aloud as the photo was uploading. “I mean, the Twitter’s just match results.”

“I guess no one is in charge of it.” Yuuri shrugged, seeming to roll with the abrupt topic change. “Why?” 

“Because I want to run them!” Phichit exclaimed. “It would be an honor, and I have plenty of experience!”

“Then you should probably talk to Viktor.” Yuuri’s voice lifted on their team captain’s name. That’s right—Yuuri  _ knew _ Viktor!

“Do you think he’d go for it?” Phichit stepped closer to Yuuri, resisting grabbing his shoulder. “What’s he like? I’ve only seen him on TV.”

“Oh!” Yuuri’s cheeks turned pink. “Viktor’s incredible. You know he has two gold medals, right? He’s been number one in men’s saber since he was 16 years old. There’s no one faster. He never hesitates—he just operates on pure instinct. But he’s honestly amazing in foil and épée, too. He does these exhibition bouts and it’s like he’s dancing. He’s the reason I started competing.”

“Wow...” Phichit said. Yuuri had probably said all of this many times before, or maybe just thought about it a lot. “I just wanted to know if he was cool, but you must really admire him.”

Yuuri’s color deepened. He let out a nervous laugh and Phichit understood—Yuuri  _ liked _ Viktor. 

“Sorry,” Yuuri said. “I guess I can get a little carried away. The truth is, I, um, don’t really know him personally.”

“Really?” Phichit wondered. “You were on the team with him last year, weren’t you?”

Yuuri pursed his lips. “He’s not really on campus much. He eats, sleeps, and breathes fencing.”

“And so  _ you _ eat, sleep, and breathe fencing?” Phichit filled in.

“Don’t you?”

It was a fair question. Phichit loved fencing, but he had never pursued the higher levels of competition like Yuuri had. He had made time for school, hobbies, friends, and boyfriends. Had Yuuri?

Yuuri has sacrificed a lot for fencing, or maybe Phichit hadn’t sacrificed enough. And even though they fenced different weapons and had never faced off, Yuuri’s statement lit a fire in Phichit’s gut. Phichit did not want to get left behind. 

But something else nagged at him—Yuuri desperately needed a break. And Phichit knew just how to break the ice. 

“I don’t just love fencing, you know,” he announced with a grin. “I also love hamsters! Speaking of which, are you allergic?”

“N-not that I know of?” Yuuri looked around the room. “You don’t have any in here, do you?”

“Not yet,” Phichit replied. “But I’d like to, if you’re okay with it. It’s the only rule I’ll break, I promise.”

Yuuri eyed him suspiciously. “The only rule?”

“What, do you mean drinking?” Drinking didn’t count—it was part of college, if all those movies were to be believed. But Phichit winked at him and put a hand to his heart. “What are you implying, Yuuri? We’re both underage.”

“Um, right.” Yuuri brushed some hair behind his ears and cleared his throat. Phichit had the idea there was a story there, but Yuuri didn’t tell it. “If you want hamsters, that’s fine. I like animals. I have a dog back home, and I really miss him.”

Phichit grinned. Progress! Yuuri was volunteering information. “I like dogs, too! Picture?”

They spent the next several minutes fawning over pictures of Yuuri’s tiny poodle, Vicchan. Phichit had a guess as to the source of his name, but kept it to himself for Yuuri’s sake.

“Hamsters are a lot easier to hide, and a lot less work,” Phichit said. “But don’t worry, you won’t have to do a thing!”

By the next morning, magazine clippings and even an actual headshot of Viktor Nikiforov showed up on Yuuri’s side of the room. Phichit didn’t comment. Now that he had two hamsters and a badass habitat, he had no room to say anything.

“What do you think, Yuuri? This little guy”—Phichit pointed at the tawny one—“is definitely Oatmeal, but I’m not sure what to call the baby with the spots.”

“I like that name.” But Yuuri was staring out the window as he said it.

“Maybe I should call him Viktor?” Phichit chanced.

Yuuri snapped to attention. “What about Viktor?”

“Okay, it’s time to talk,” Phichit said calmly. “Something’s up. First, you tried to put coffee in your cereal this morning, and now you’re zoning out. Oh, and your socks don’t match.”

Yuuri looked down at his feet and sighed. “It’s just...no one’s seen Viktor yet. I’m worried about him.”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” said Phichit, even though he had no idea. “You said he has lots of other obligations, right? He’ll be back in time for classes.”

“Right. Classes.” Yuuri nodded but he didn’t seem to believe Phichit.

“I don’t know, maybe gold medalists don’t have to go to class. But he’ll definitely be back for practice. He’s the team captain.”

“Yeah.” Yuuri finally cracked a smile. He lifted his shoulders and bounced on the balls of his feet. “Yeah! Practice. So, should we go jogging?”

Phichit really wanted to spend more time with his new hamsters, but maybe a jog was what he needed to brainstorm a new name. Plus, if Yuuri thought jogging was a good idea, it had to be, and Phichit had a lot of catching up to do.

“Sure!” he exclaimed. “Let me just change clothes.”

Yuuri was a great jogging buddy for the first mile. Even though he had a good three inches on Phichit, Phichit’s energy made up for Yuuri’s long strides.

But at mile two, Yuuri was still going strong and Phichit started to lag behind. For a sport that was all about quick bouts, Yuuri had a lot of stamina. Phichit was in awe, and he set a new goal for himself.

He was determined to learn to pace himself like Yuuri this year or die trying.

Phichit lost sight of Yuuri completely as he rounded the administration building, and, with a deep breath, Phichit summoned the last reserves of his energy to catch up to him. They had to be done soon, right?

Yuuri must have noticed him falling behind, because by the time Phichit turned the corner, Yuuri had come to a complete stop.

“Thanks for waiting,” Phichit panted. “You’re amazing! We have to keep doing this so I can build my endurance. I can help you sprint, too! I was always more of a sprinter.”

But Yuuri wasn’t listening at all. Phichit followed his eyes to the main entrance of the administration building.

Yuuri was gaping at Viktor Nikiforov’s doppelgänger—just as tall, handsome, and fit, but with much shorter hair. Maybe Viktor had a twin?

Viktor’s double looked their way and his frown transformed into a goofy grin. “Yuuri!”

Phichit gasped. Yuuri was holding out on him! He hadn’t mentioned Viktor’s twin, or that they were friends. There was no way this jovial guy could be the cold, polished gold medalist Phichit had seen on TV.

“V-Viktor?!” Yuuri coughed out.

“Viktor?” Phichit echoed. Viktor was nothing like he expected, and Yuuri offered no explanation. He seemed to have forgotten Phichit existed.

“Yuuri! I changed my major! I’m going to study French Literature!” Viktor ran toward them and embraced Yuuri like an old friend. For his part, Yuuri froze.

Yuuri had a lot of explaining to do, but for now, Phichit just wanted to watch the scene unfold. His phone was burning a hole in his jogging holster, but he held off for now.

“Your h-hair?!” was all Yuuri managed to squeak out.

Viktor released him and flipped his bangs out of his eyes. His hair sparkled in the sun like spun silver. “Do you like it?”

“I...I...”

Phichit couldn’t stand by anymore. “He loves it!” he blurted.

Viktor turned to Phichit like he had only just noticed him. “Oh, hello! Are you a friend of Yuuri’s?”

Phichit nodded proudly. “Phichit Chulanont. Yuuri’s friend and roommate.” He resisted adding wingman to his list of credentials.

“Wonderful!” cried Viktor, clasping his hands together.

Yuuri still couldn’t form words, so Phichit filled the silence. “I can’t wait to work with you on the fencing team this year!”

“Oh, you fence, too?” Viktor’s smile rounded his fine cheeks, reminding Phichit of his hamsters—if his hamsters kept secrets. “Then I’ll see you at practice on Thursday night! I have a big announcement, and I owe it all to Yuuri!”

Viktor moved to touch Yuuri’s shoulder and panic flashed in Yuuri’s eyes. “I have to go!” Yuuri announced. He took off, disappearing in seconds.

_ Guess he doesn’t need my help with sprinting after all,  _ Phichit thought. But Yuuri definitely needed help with Viktor.

He wasn’t the only one who needed help. Viktor was staring helplessly at the spot where Yuuri had stood. “Was it something I said?”

Maybe Yuuri was embarrassed about Viktor seeing him after a jog, though Phichit couldn’t imagine why. Yuuri had barely broken a sweat.

“Oh, you know Yuuri. He takes his conditioning very seriously,” said Phichit. It was just an educated guess, but he felt gratified when Viktor nodded. “Hey, if you have a second, can we talk social media?"

“Sure, sure,” Viktor said, frowning at the spot where Yuuri had been. 

“Can I please run the team’s accounts? I can provide references.”

Viktor still wasn’t looking at him. “Of course. That’s fine.”

“Awesome!” Phichit exclaimed, even though he was pretty sure Viktor had no idea what he had just agreed to. It still counted. “So who runs them now? Because I’d rather use the accounts you have than start new ones. You know, for continuity.”

“Hmm?” Viktor finally looked up. “Continuity?”

For a two-time gold medalist, Viktor was kind of a space cadet. And that wasn’t the only surprise. From his friendly manner with Yuuri to his sudden passion for French Literature, even his very disposition... Phichit couldn’t reconcile any of it with what Yuuri had told him about Viktor Nikiforov.

“Social media,” Phichit repeated. “I want to build the team’s brand.”

“Oh! Right, right.” Viktor nodded like he had been paying attention the whole time, but his tone was dismissive. “Talk to Celestino. I think he handles that stuff right now.”

Celestino Cialdini was the one who had recruited Phichit, so he had an in. And now he understood why the accounts were so drab. Celestino was animated, but he also signed his texts.

“Thanks! I better go find Yuuri,” said Phichit.

Viktor forced a smile, completely different from the one he had given Yuuri only minutes ago. “Of course. Would you mind asking him to text me so we can make arrangements?”

Phichit tilted his head. “Arrangements?”

“He’ll know what I’m talking about!” Viktor said, sounding much more confident. “It was nice meeting you!”

They headed off in opposite directions.

Yuuri wasn’t in the room when Phichit got back. Phichit sent him a text— _ You ok? _ —and changed clothes. He played with the still-nameless spotted hamster for a couple minutes, wishing Yuuri had held off on disappearing until they knew each other better. Phichit had no idea where to look for him.

But maybe Yuuri didn’t want to be found. Back home, Phichit’s friends were all pretty outgoing. When they were upset, they’d get together and complain, or at least let it out in a group chat. But Yuuri probably wasn’t like that. Maybe Yuuri needed his space.

Phichit sent another text.

_ Let me know if there’s anything I can do. Otherwise, catch you later? _

That was probably a good start. He’d wait until Yuuri was in better spirits to pass along Viktor’s message. And if Yuuri wanted to explain anything else about the bizarre encounter, that was up to him. Phichit wasn’t going to push (even though he was dying to know). He hadn’t dated anyone since Adrian, and Yuuri and Viktor’s ambiguous relationship was already far more interesting.

Yuuri left him on read, but that was enough for Phichit. He headed back out to find Celestino’s office.

Celestino had been an accomplished foil fencer back in his prime, with a few titles for Italy under his belt. When Celestino had visited California to recruit, he had sported a ponytail even longer than Viktor’s had been at the Olympics, and Phichit cracked himself up imagining Celestino with a haircut.

It was probably a good idea to visit Celestino to thank him before practice started, anyway. Phichit would open with that and then ask about Instagram and Twitter.

He knocked on the door to Celestino’s office. “Excuse me, Coach Cialdini?”

Celestino looked up—no haircut—and grinned. “Ciao ciao! Come on in, Phichit, and welcome to Sacre-Coeur! What can I do for you?”

Phichit smiled and took the seat Celestino gestured to. “I just wanted to thank you again for reaching out to me! I’m flattered and excited to be here.”

“Nonsense! You did the hard part. I should be thanking you, because I’m sure you’ll make a fantastic addition to the team,” Celestino replied. His animated gesticulations were a vivid contrast to his purposeful movements on the piste (at least from the limited footage Phichit had been able to find online). “Did you have some questions about the practice schedule? Or maybe competitions?”

Phichit shook his head. “Actually, I ran into Viktor earlier and he said that you ran the team’s social media accounts.”

“You ran into Viktor?” Celestino made a strange face, but it was gone in a flash, replaced by a booming laugh. “He’s right, I do run the accounts. Though I’m afraid I’m a bit behind on technology. What about them?”

“Well, I know I’m just a freshman and I haven’t really paid my dues yet, but I was wondering if I could help with maintaining the social media accounts for the team? After all, I’m sure you’re very busy.” Phichit kept an easy smile on his face, and Celestino cocked one very bushy eyebrow in interest. Actually, Phichit wasn’t sure where the one eyebrow stopped and the other one started.

“You know, I always thought a student would do a better job. You’re always on your phones these days.” There was a fondness to his voice rather than the resentment that usually came with that sort of statement. “Are you sure you’ll have time?”

“I ran my old fencing club’s accounts while getting good grades and practicing. When I left, our Instagram had over 20,000 followers!” He didn’t mention that under the new regime, that number had dipped below 19,000.

“Impressive!” Celestino laughed again. “I think. I must admit I don’t know what impressive numbers would be.”

Phichit didn’t miss a beat. “Most fencing clubs have under 1000 followers.”

“Is that so? Well, in that case, be my guest!” He opened his desk drawer and started fishing around in it. “I know I have the passwords written down somewhere.”

Phichit cleared his throat. “You know, there are some great password management apps out there...” 

“Don’t trust them,” Celestino said, waving his hand. “Good old fashioned pen and paper is far more secure these days. Voilà!”

He handed Phichit a crumpled piece of paper with chicken scratch on it. Phichit squinted at it.  “Is that an L or a 7?”

“It’s a capital Q,” said Celestino.

Phichit did his best to transcribe the password, and both of them gave a cheer when he was able to log in from his phone.

“Oh, since you’re here, there’s something I’ve been meaning to discuss with you.” Celestino’s face went serious. “Your record with your old club—your fencing record, I mean—is impressive, but is there a reason you’ve never participated in any national competitions?”

“School was a big deal in my family,” said Phichit with a shrug. They didn’t want me to miss class for fencing.”

“I see.” Celestino stroked his chin. “And how do you feel?”

Phichit hadn’t given it much thought until recently. “I guess I’m not opposed to it. Kind of missed my shot at the Olympics, though.”

“There’s more to fencing than the Olympics, my boy! And there’s always next time, and the time after that! You could have a long career ahead of you, but what you need right now is a real challenge.” Celestino grinned again. “If you don’t mind my saying so, you were a big fish in a small pond. It’ll be interesting to see how you do in practice.”

“You mean Christophe Giacometti is going to wipe the floor with me?” Phichit said with a sheepish grin. He had researched the entire team, after all.

“If Chris can keep his mind where it belongs,” Celestino muttered under his breath. “But we’ll see on Thursday, won’t we?”

“I can’t wait!”

“Just think about what I said,” Celestino said. “Anything else I can do for you?”

“I don’t think so,” said Phichit, standing up. “Thanks, again!”

“Ciao ciao!” Celestino said with a wave.

Phichit waved back. As he left the building, he decided Celestino would definitely be Ciao Ciao from now on. But it didn’t make a good hamster name.

When Phichit got back to the dorm, Yuuri was back, curled up in bed. He offered a weak wave. 

“Hey,” said Phichit. He didn’t want to make the disappearance a thing unless Yuuri did.

Yuuri winced, like he was anticipating a big deal. “Sorry about running off earlier. I always get a little nervous around Viktor, and he was acting kind of weird.”

“Was he?” Phichit wondered. “Maybe that’s how he always is. You said you don’t really know him, right?”

Yuuri’s eyes went wide, as if he had never considered it before.

“Anyway,” Phichit continued, “I talked to him and Ciao Ciao, and you’re looking at the new manager of the team Twitter and Instagram accounts!”

“Congratulations!” Yuuri smiled, then blinked. “Wait, who’s Ciao Ci—oh.” He covered a snort of laughter with his hand.

Yuuri was the cutest. What the team Insta really needed was more pictures of Yuuri and Viktor. Actually, the entire team was an untapped gold mine of hotness. It was probably a good thing Celestino hadn’t exploited it, but  _ Phichit _ wasn’t above using sex appeal to get followers. It had always worked for his personal account—even though it was sorely lacking in that department these days. So was Phichit, but pictures of Yuuri and Viktor weren’t going to fix that problem.

Yuuri scooted to the edge of the bed. “That show I put on earlier was pretty pathetic, huh?”

“No!” But Phichit’s reply might have been too quick. “Viktor was just a little surprised, I think.”

“Did he say anything else after I left?” Yuuri burst out. He backtracked immediately with, “I mean, of course he didn’t, he doesn’t even—”

This time, Phichit cut in quick on purpose. “He asked me to tell you to text him to make arrangements,” Phichit explained. “Said you’d know what he was talking about?”

But from the look on Yuuri’s face, Viktor was wrong.

“You should text him anyway,” Phichit suggested. “It seems like he wants to get to know you better.” It seemed like he already knew him, but Phichit wasn’t going to call Yuuri a liar. It was probably all just a misunderstanding.

“Yeah, maybe,” said Yuuri. But his tone made it clear that he would not be texting Viktor.

Yuuri didn’t need help with sprinting, or with Viktor. What he needed was confidence. Phichit couldn’t make Yuuri believe in himself, but he could believe in Yuuri enough for the both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh, I'm so touched by all the comments, kudos, and hits. Thanks to everyone who came back and thanks to all the new readers. 
> 
> Phichit is so fun to write, but the really fun stuff is yet to come. I hope you'll stick around!


	3. Sunscreen and Caffeine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor has a surprise announcement, but does he have a plan?

For the next two days, all Yuuri thought about was how he was allegedly supposed to text Viktor. Phichit had probably misheard him, or made it up to make Yuuri feel better. The more he learned about Phichit, the less likely both of those theories seemed, but Yuuri still couldn’t even compose a text.

They had practice tonight, anyhow. If by some miracle Viktor actually needed to talk to him, he could do it then.

“I’m so excited!” Phichit said for the third time. “My old fencing club was hella casual.”

Yuuri didn’t know what that meant, but he nodded. The gym was about a ten minute walk from their dorm, and Phichit practically skipped the whole way.

“What was it like when you competed in the World Cup?” he asked.

“Nerve-wracking,” Yuuri replied. “I thought I was going to throw up.”

“Wow, then you must do really well under pressure! You finished in the top 25.”

Phichit sounded so impressed, but that day had been a disappointment for Yuuri. He’d made so many careless mistakes—but what else was new? “Why do you ask?” 

“Oh, just something Ciao Ciao said the other day. He thinks I haven’t challenged myself enough, and I’m starting to think he’s right. The biggest competition I ever did was a Bay Area thing.”

“I’m sure you’d do well,” Yuuri said. If Phichit had made the team without any major competitions under his belt, he had to be promising, and all that confidence couldn’t hurt. “If I can do it, you definitely can.”

“Hey, you’re internationally ranked. I’m just a college fencer. For now, that is.” Phichit slung an arm around Yuuri’s shoulder. “I’m going to work really hard this year so I can go with you next time. We can cheer each other on!”

The thought of having Phichit there with him actually did make Yuuri feel better, and he smiled. Phichit’s arm was still around him when they walked into the gym, and Yuuri’s roommate Chris zeroed in on them immediately.

“Is this why you’ve been ignoring my texts?” Chris asked, pushing Phichit’s arm to the side and running his hand down Yuuri’s chest.

“What?” Yuuri squeaked out. “We’re friends.” The realization startled him; it hadn’t even been a week and he and Phichit were on their way to becoming friends. Maybe Chris had a reason to be jealous after all. He had spent the whole year trying to get Yuuri to be his friend and then some. 

“You must be Christophe Giacometti,” said Phichit, unfazed. He released Yuuri so he could shake Chris’s hand. “Phichit Chulanont. Yuuri’s roommate. Foil.”

“Foil?” One corner of Chris’s mouth crept up. “Then the pleasure is all mine.” 

“Will you spar with me tonight?” Phichit asked. “I’ll do my best to keep up!”

“Oh, we’ll definitely spar.” Chris put his other hand on top of Phichit’s. “I adore fresh meat. So eager, so naive.”

Yuuri was a little intimidated (even though Chris wasn’t taunting him) but Phichit didn’t back down. Chris didn’t let go of him, either, and Phichit’s grin went a little feral. They stayed like that, eyes and hands interlocked, until Chris finally released him with a gratuitous wink. Confidence was an incredible thing.

Yuuri couldn’t wait to watch Chris and Phichit face off, but practice hadn’t started yet so he stood around, waving awkwardly as the rest of the team greeted him. Somehow Phichit knew everyone by name already—even the names Yuuri should have known but didn’t.

But something was wrong. Coaches Celestino, Yakov, and Satsuki were huddled in a corner, deep in a tense conversation. Yuuri knew exactly what, or more appropriately, who they were talking about.

Viktor was nowhere to be found.

At eight minutes past the hour, Yakov addressed everyone, stiffer than usual.

“Welcome to the first practice of the season. Normally, your team captain would be speaking, but your captain is—”

“Present,” Viktor said casually. Yuuri whirled around, almost jumping out of his skin when he found Viktor standing right behind him. When had he snuck in? How?

Whispers about his haircut bounced around the room.

“Vitya...” Yakov grumbled. That was a familiar sound. “Where have you been?”

“I was buying my textbooks,” said Viktor. He wasn’t even dressed for practice, still clad in slacks and a V-neck shirt. “I could have just downloaded them, but seeing as it’s my first time I wanted something I could hold.”

“We can talk about your coursework later,” Yakov said through gritted teeth. “Go change.” Viktor smiled and shook his head.

“Why not?” Yakov’s voice was low and slow, and his eyes were so narrow he looked just a second shy from murdering Viktor. Yuuri gulped.

“Because I won’t be competing this year,” said Viktor, casual as a lunch order.

Yuuri’s heart dropped out of his chest.

The room erupted in shouts as everyone from freshman to coach spoke at once. The roar filled Yuuri’s ears and he couldn’t pick out individual voices or words from the static. He looked up at Viktor, eyes unfocused, and then he couldn’t hear anything but his own blood pounding in his ears.

Viktor was quitting the team before Yuuri had even gotten the chance to talk to him. Leaving before he even knew who Yuuri really was. What was fencing without Viktor? Who was Yuuri without Viktor? His entire identity hinged on someone he barely even knew, someone who probably didn’t even know his full name was—

"Yuuri Katsuki."

Yuuri’s knees buckled. Viktor had just said his name, and now everyone was staring at him.

“I second the nomination!” Phichit exclaimed. Yuuri turned toward him so quickly he probably pulled a muscle.

“Nomination for what?” Yuuri choked out.

“Team Captain,” replied Viktor. Yuuri looked back at him in terror. It had to be a joke.

“Who, me? No. No way. I’m too young.”

“Viktor was your age when he became captain,” Phichit said. Viktor nodded but Yuuri shook his head harder.

“But he had a gold medal then! I’m just—I’m not good enough.”

“You’re internationally ranked,” Phichit reminded him, again.

Time slowed as Viktor walked over to Yuuri. Viktor lifted his hand, and, after just a moment's hesitation, put it on Yuuri’s shoulder. “I believe in you. But this is a democracy. All in favor of making Yuuri captain?”

“Aye!” Phichit was first.

The ayes rose up throughout the room, not a single nay among them, except Yuuri’s own silent protest.

Viktor looked deep into Yuuri’s eyes, still touching his shoulder. “The ayes have it, but do you want to do this? I’ll help you every step of the way.”

Yuuri still felt like he had swallowed rocks, but Viktor said he would help him, and Yuuri would walk on hot coals if Viktor promised to be there with him. When Viktor was watching, Yuuri could do anything.

“Aye. I mean, yes. I’ll do it.”

The rest of the team cheered but all Yuuri cared about was the way Viktor was smiling at him. He had no idea what he had gotten himself into, but it was worth it for this moment.

“NIKIFOROV!” Yakov barked, shattering the moment. “My office. Now.”

Viktor’s smile faded. “I’ll be right back,” he said, giving Yuuri’s shoulder a squeeze before turning away.

Phichit was there in an instant, phone in hand, and Yuuri caught a glimpse of his own bewildered face on the screen. Of course Phichit was uploading the picture to Instagram. It wasn’t exactly the image he wanted to project, but it was as good as it was going to get. Phichit grinned, narrating as he typed. " _ Congratulations to our new Team Captain Yuuri Katsuki! May his reign be long and prosperous! _ ”

Chris wasn’t far behind Phichit. His arms were crossed but he looked pleased. “I’d say you and Viktor planned this last year, but that is the look of a man in genuine shock.”

“I have no idea what just happened,” Yuuri admitted. Muffled shouts rang from Yakov’s office, and Celestino and Satsuki headed in, looking as tired as Yuuri felt.

“You just became our fearless leader!” Ketty piped up. “Welcome back, by the way.” “Fearless?!” Yuuri choked on the word.

Ketty giggled, even cheerier than Phichit. “It’s an expression. Don’t worry, you’ll do great!”

Anya and Georgi rounded on him, arm in arm. Yuuri’s eyes went wide. He needed to sit down but these were his elders, associate captains of the women’s and men’s teams, respectively. Now, he outranked them. The idea made him sick to his stomach.

“Congratulations, Yuuri!” Georgi said, smiling and shaking his hand. “I have a lot of ideas for the team this year and I can’t wait to work with you.”

“You’re still a bit green, but I suppose you proved yourself last year,” Anya added. At least her reaction was more appropriate, even if Yuuri had no idea what he had done to impress her.

Everyone was too amped up to get to work and there were no coaches around to call order.  _ Oh no.  _ Yuuri’s heart pounded hard in his chest. It was his responsibility to start practice now.

Viktor could have done it without even lifting a finger. When he walked into a room, everyone shut up and paid attention. That was the kind of energy a captain needed, and Yuuri didn’t have it.

Yuuri wasn’t Viktor.

What was Viktor thinking? What was everyone thinking? Making Yuuri captain was a mistake. A colossal mistake. He was going to run the team into the ground. Sacre-Coeur was going to fall to the bottom of the rankings, maybe even lose Division I standing. All because of him.

Yuuri couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. He had to get out before he ruined everything. So he ran from practice, from campus, from his problems, all the way to his little safe haven. It was just a tiny restaurant in a nondescript strip mall, but it was a piece of home and nothing could hurt him there. Closing time was in less than an hour but Hisashi would understand.

The run cleared some of the static from Yuuri’s head, and despite the workout, his heart rate was probably lower when he arrived.

“Back again?” Hisashi asked.

“It’s been a rough week, Morooka-san,” Yuuri replied. 

Hisashi sighed and nodded. “Coming right up.”

Yuuri was the only other person in the restaurant. He hoped business was good, because he didn’t know what he would do without Station M. Katsudon didn’t really fix anything, but it did make things a little better for a little while. Hisashi’s wasn’t as good as his mother’s, but going home every time he got upset just wasn’t feasible.

On the bright side, if he destroyed the fencing team, he could move back home and eat all the pork cutlet bowls he wanted.

His phone buzzed. 

[Phichit]  
_ You all right? I’m here if you need me. _

Phichit left it at that. Yuuri still felt rotten, but at least Phichit didn’t seem to hate him. He cared enough to offer both support and space. Yuuri had shirked the former in favor of the latter for much too long.

He took a deep breath and texted his location to Phichit.

Phichit showed up about the same time as the katsudon.

“Sorry!” Phichit said with a little bow to Hisashi. “I know you’re trying to close.”

Hisashi shook his head and smiled. “A friend of Katsuki-kun’s is a friend of mine. Come on in. Hungry?”

“Not this time, but I would take some tea, please.” Phichit sat down next to Yuuri as Hisashi fetched another cup of cold barley tea. “So this is where you come to hide?”

Yuuri nodded, inhaling the glorious steam that rose up from his bowl. “It’s the best restaurant in town.”

“It does smell amazing,” Phichit said, gesturing toward Yuuri’s bowl. “What is it?”

How could Yuuri even begin to explain it to him? Instead of searching for the words, he picked up a yolk-soaked strip of fried pork with his chopsticks and popped it into Phichit’s mouth. The first bite was his favorite, but it was the least he could do after Phichit ran all the way here. “It’s katsudon.”

“Whoa!” A closed-mouth smile stretched Phichit’s cheeks as he chewed. “It’s so good! What’s in it?”

“It’s a fried pork cutlet with—” Yuuri clamped a hand over his own mouth. “Oh god, you do eat pork, don’t you?”

Phichit nodded excitedly. “Oh, I eat pork. But you still made a terrible mistake, because now you have to give me more!”

Yuuri could live with that. They split the bowl and Phichit insisted on paying for his portion and tipping. Both of them offered to help Hisashi clean up, but he refused.

“Go!” Hisashi urged. “Have fun and enjoy your college days. They’ll be over before you know it.”

“What did you say that dish was called again?” asked Phichit on the walk back to the dorms. Yuuri told him and Phichit grinned. “Then it’s settled. Oatmeal’s brother’s name is now Katsudon! I feel so much better."

Yuuri did, too, and he had more than just the katsudon to thank. But his high spirits didn’t last. “We both skipped the first practice of the year,” he realized with a groan.

“Satsuki sent everyone home after you left,” Phichit told him. “We weren’t going to get anything done, anyway. Coach Yakov was still screaming at Viktor.”

Viktor quitting, Yuuri becoming captain—it hit him all over again. The whole team was going to hate him for bailing.

“Hey, do you think this is the announcement Viktor mentioned the other day?”

Yuuri had forgotten all about that. “Probably...”

“He seemed to think you knew something about it,” Phichit continued.

“I had no idea he was going to quit fencing!” Yuuri burst out. The RA in the lobby shushed them, and Phichit steered Yuuri to the stairs.

“I know,” he said, patting Yuuri’s back. “But I still think you need to talk to him. You guys don’t seem like you’re on the same page.”

_ Why would we be on the same page?  _ Yuuri thought. Under his breath, he said, “We aren’t even in the same book.”

“But you’re on the same team. Or at least, you were.” Phichit opened the door to their room and headed straight for the hamster cage. He lifted the lid, his voice taking on a higher pitch as he scooped up the spotted hamster. “He could probably give you some advice on being captain, too. Isn’t that right, Katsudon?”

Viktor had offered to help him (after throwing him under the bus, that is). But tonight, Yuuri was determined to sit in his room and get organized for the start of classes next week, as if the entire fencing team wasn’t hanging in the balance.

It proved surprisingly easy to sleep with hamsters in the room. He thought they might run on their wheels all night, but Phichit was a hamster whisperer. Yuuri was getting used to the bed, too, and so far, Phichit didn’t snore or talk in his sleep. The combination of an exhausting day and a full stomach worked to his advantage, and Yuuri fell asleep quickly.

A knock shook Yuuri out of a dreamless sleep.

“Rise and shine, Yuuri! It’s time for your first lesson!”

Or maybe he was dreaming, because that sounded like Viktor’s voice. Yuuri kept his eyes closed, trying to will Viktor into his mind’s eye. Long—no, short hair, clear blue eyes, gorgeous smile...

“Viktor?” Phichit said.

Why was Phichit in his dream?

Yuuri opened his eyes to find Phichit and Viktor standing at the door.  _ Not a dream,  _ he thought as he pulled his covers up to his shoulders.

Viktor looked like a fitness model in his designer sweats, and his new haircut seemed to suit him even better today. Phichit was still in pajamas, but he looked like he had been up for a while.

“Good morning!” Viktor said brightly. “I’m here for your roommate!”

Phichit turned to Yuuri with a knowing grin. “Oh, Yuuri! You have a visitor!” he sang, even though Yuuri’s eyes were glued to Viktor.

Viktor strode past Phichit to Yuuri’s bed and yanked his covers off with a flourish.

“Viktor!” Yuuri squeaked. He didn’t sleep naked, but what if he did?

His eyes darted to the pictures of Viktor next to his desk and he almost choked. There was no way he could take them down without Viktor noticing! He just had to hope Viktor wouldn’t look and that Phichit wouldn’t point them out.

At least Viktor seemed too busy planting matador with Yuuri’s blankets to turn around. “First lesson: Early to bed and early to rise makes you a better fencer!”

“I don’t think that’s how the saying goes,” said Phichit. He had his phone out, and Yuuri was willing to bet he had taken a dozen pictures already.

“There’s a saying?” Viktor looked confused, then shrugged. “Anyway, up and at ‘em, Team Captain! We have work to do!”

“We do?” Yuuri had no idea what Viktor was talking about. Oh. Viktor said ‘Team Captain'. Maybe this was what Viktor meant when he said he would help.

If being captain meant never being able to sleep in, Yuuri liked it even less. But he couldn’t say no to Viktor.

“Just a second,” Yuuri said, dragging himself out of bed and keeping Viktor’s attention away from his mini-shrine. “Let me just get changed.”  _ And brush my teeth and shower and maybe borrow some concealer, _ he added mentally.

Viktor nodded but made no motion to leave. Yuuri cleared his throat. 

“Oh! Of course.” Viktor dropped Yuuri’s covers back on his bed and stepped into the hall. With a wink, he added, “Meet me in the lobby in 10 minutes.”

Viktor closed the door behind him and Phichit looked like he was ready to pop. “Ooh, Yuuri! He likes you!” Phichit teased.

“Shh! He’ll hear you!” Yuuri scooped up his clothes and toiletries as quickly as he could. “And no, he doesn’t. You heard him. He’s helping me adjust to being captain, and I need all the help I can get.”

“You’ll be great!” said Phichit. “But since you’re so sure this impromptu training sesh is strictly professional, I’m sure you wouldn’t mind if I tagged along to get some shots for the team Insta?”

Yuuri glared at him. “Of course I’d mind!”

“Well, then it sounds like you have an early morning date with Viktor,” Phichit said, practically licking his lips. “I want a full report—three pages, 12-point font, double spaced—on my desk by tomorrow morning.”

Yuuri just narrowed his eyes a little more.

Phichit pouted. "Please, Yuuri. My crops are dying."

It wasn’t a date. Yuuri cracked the door, looked left and right, and once he was sure the coast was clear, he slipped out to the communal bathroom.

While setting what had to be the world record for fastest shower ever, Yuuri tried to plan out what he would say to Viktor. They weren’t close enough for Yuuri to ask why he had just up and quit.

Maybe he wanted to go out on top after the Olympics, but that didn’t really sound like Viktor. He was only 21, and fencing wasn’t like other sports where athletes wore out before they turned 30. Minako was 50 and even though her Olympic days were behind her, she was still a dominant force on the Veteran circuit.

The clock was ticking. Yuuri’s clothes tugged at his damp skin but he forced them on anyway. He brushed his teeth so fast that he scratched his gums, and he spit a little blood in the sink.

He gasped. What if Viktor was injured? He wasn’t acting hurt, but if anyone could hide an injury, Viktor could. Or what if he was sick?

Yuuri’s stomach churned as he went from one terrible scenario to the next. At least he wasn’t hungry anymore, though he could do with some coffee.

An image popped into his head—coffee with Viktor, their hands brushing as they both reached for the to-go lids, like an actual morning date.

But he didn’t have time for fantasies. His 10 minutes were almost up. Yuuri tossed his things in his room with a “Sorry, Phichit!” and charged for the stairs.

Viktor was waiting in an armchair in the lobby, one elegant hand curled around a cup of coffee. He raised the cup to his lips to take a sip and Yuuri couldn’t decide if he was more jealous of Viktor or the coffee cup.

Viktor looked up, brightening when his eyes landed on Yuuri. Just like upstairs. But why? “There you are, Yuuri!”

With the exception of Vicchan, no one was ever this excited to see him. Not even Phichit. It wasn’t a bad feeling, but it was weird. Yuuri tried to say something intelligent, but all that came out was, “Coffee...”

“Ah ah ah,” Viktor chided, wiggling the cup. “This is mine. And as your coach, I must advise you to limit your caffeine intake. There’s nothing like a brisk jog to wake you up!”

Yuuri’s mouth fell open. Coach? No coffee?

Viktor leaned down and tapped him on the nose. “Second lesson: Do as I say, not as I do.”

He smelled like coffee, and he didn’t even get stale breath like Yuuri did every time he drank the stuff. Viktor could probably afford better beans.

Viktor probably didn’t get bad breath at all.

“I don’t understand,” Yuuri stammered. “Coach?”

Viktor nodded proudly. “That’s right! And I suggest you get a move on because running in the hot sun like you did the other day puts you at risk for dehydration and”—Viktor’s face went grim—“premature signs of aging. What SPF are you using, Yuuri?”

Yuuri stared at him in confusion. “SPF?”

“Sun protection factor, Yuuri!” Viktor grabbed one of his cheeks and pinched. “Sunscreen! Your skin might be bouncy and supple now but you still have to take care of it!”

Yuuri never imagined getting lectured on sun safety by Viktor Nikiforov.

“Enough dawdling, Captain!” Viktor said, pressing a hand to Yuuri’s lower back to usher him outside. “Three laps to the student union and back.”

Finally, something Yuuri understood. “Just three laps?” That wouldn’t even take twenty minutes.

“It’s two miles,” Viktor said, holding up two fingers. “That’s what I usually run in the morning. How long do you run?”

“At least five miles a day,” Yuuri said. Too late, he realized he sounded smug. Viktor’s mouth dropped open but Yuuri took off before either of them could say anything more.

Yuuri cleared his mind and jogged, once, twice, three times to the union and back, but he didn’t see Viktor until he was done. Sixteen minutes and thirty-two seconds. Not bad for someone whose entire world had just been turned upside-down.

“So fast!” Viktor cried. He held out a small paper cup to Yuuri and whispered, “Don’t tell your coach, but your reward is coffee.”

Yuuri took the cup and it was so hot it almost burned his fingers. He had barely broken a sweat, but hot coffee still sounded terrible. Viktor eyed him curiously and Yuuri downed it in a few quick gulps. He forced himself to smile even though the coffee burned his throat and sank in his stomach like a brick. It had too much cream and sugar, but it was from Viktor, so he was going to take it and like it.

“Thanks,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Wow, you must really love coffee! It’s the last thing I want after a jog,” mused Viktor.

Yuuri’s smile twitched. Was Viktor messing with him?

“Looks like I’m going to have to push you harder,” Viktor went on. His eyes glinted in the sunlight and Yuuri wasn’t sure whether he should be flattered or afraid. “I never had much stamina myself.”

The coffee hadn’t quenched Yuuri’s thirst at all and he could already tell it was real cream (he’d pay for that later). Why hadn’t Viktor brought him water? Why had Viktor brought him anything at all? Why were they out here at this hour?

Completely unaware of his struggle, Viktor continued to think out loud. “I can work with this. Why don’t you give me another three laps while I figure it out?”

Yuuri’s mouth fell open. The stream of mental questions continued. What did this have to do with being team captain? Why did Viktor pick him? Why was he so concerned with sunscreen but not with hydration?

But his desire to please Viktor thwarted his every query, so he just nodded and ran. Stopping at a water fountain in the union wouldn’t add much to his time and Viktor would be none the wiser.

The coffee sloshed around in his stomach as he ran, but he pushed on. If he stopped, he might wake up from this waking dream, and he’d take hot coffee over ice water if it came with even a scrap of Viktor’s attention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Viktor's plan is revealed! Too bad Yuuri knew nothing about it. Thanks so much for all the hits, kudos, and comments. I really appreciate every returning and new reader.


	4. Resigned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri and Viktor finally face off again, and Yuuri reaches a breaking point.

After a week, Yuuri was no closer to feeling like Team Captain, but he had learned a few things about Viktor. For example, Viktor woke up early and smiled a lot. He was an amazing conversationalist, but maybe not the best listener. Then again, Yuuri was so happy to listen that he hadn’t really done much talking himself.

He had also learned that Viktor loved surprises, and the biggest surprise of all was his top-secret plan for Yuuri. His training methods didn’t offer any hints, but at least Yuuri had gotten bold enough to ask questions. Maybe it was just the post-workout high—the way Viktor’s eyes lit up when Yuuri did footwork drills made him feel invincible.

“But what does the team captain actually do?”

Viktor waved a hand in the air. “Don’t worry about it. You know how to do all that stuff already.”

But Georgi had given him a very different impression. “You represent the team at University functions and make sure the University hears our voices.” He made it sound like a lot of public speaking, which made Yuuri want to puke.

Anya had been even more intimidating. “You have to be a leader. You’re not going to be popular, but someone has to make the hard decisions.”

Coach Yakov’s, "You can’t be any worse than Vitya,” and Coach Satsuki’s, “Everyone believes in you! Just believe in yourself and do your best!” sat at different ends of the spectrum, but both were equally unhelpful.

Coach Celestino was the only one to offer anything useful, even if his words didn’t bring comfort. “Do you know how I knew you were going to be a good captain?” he asked that evening before practice. “Because you volunteer to carry everyone’s gear before and after competitions, and you never complain. You could use a little more confidence, and we can work on your mentoring skills, but you’re doing a great job with Phichit.”

“I am?” Yuuri wondered aloud. He wasn’t even trying to mentor Phichit. Was that even possible when they didn’t use the same weapon? “But Anya and Georgi are both better than I am, and they’re older. Why not one of them?”

“Apples to oranges, Yuuri," Celestino said. "And, to be frank, neither of them wants the job.” 

"Can't blame them," Yuuri mumbled. But Celestino didn't seem to hear him.

“Don’t worry so much. You’re the most dedicated member of the team, and you’re relentless on the attack.” Celestino grinned, baring all of his teeth. “Terrifying, even!”

“Terrifying?” Yuuri squeaked. Most of the time, he just felt terrified.

Celestino’s laugh echoed around the gym. “I wouldn’t want to be on the other end of your blade!” He fell silent when Yuuri didn’t join him, then offered a more encouraging smile. “I’ll admit, I was a little worried when you ran away last week, but you came back, and you’re working hard like always. Give it time. Everything will fall into place.”

But with classes, practice, and Viktor’s extra sessions, there weren’t enough places for everything to fall. Sleep was already becoming a problem and it was only the third day of classes.

On the bright side, the Fencing Club’s demonstrations for the campus-wide activity fair were going off without a hitch.

Yuuri couldn’t even blame Georgi for springing the event on him last minute—Yuuri knew it was coming; he had participated himself last year. He just hadn’t realized it was something else that fell on the Team Captain’s shoulders.

“Wow, so Viktor used to take care of all this stuff?” Yuuri thought he was asking a rhetorical question, but Georgi had laughed and Anya had just glared at him.

It was his first hint that Viktor had let a few things fall through the cracks while he was Team Captain.

Not that Yuuri blamed him. Of course Viktor wouldn’t have had time, considering all of his other obligations. Yuuri had no right to complain. He didn’t have sponsorships and Olympic qualifiers to worry about. Maybe he couldn’t handle everything with grace and charm like Viktor could, but he could handle it. What was a little lost sleep to a college student?

The activity fair fell on a beautiful, sunny day. Unfortunately, that meant it was really too hot to stay in plastrons and masks for very long, but Yuuri had scheduled demonstrations in shifts with plenty of water breaks so no one would get overheated. He had even scheduled the longer épée demonstrations for after the sun wasn't so high in the sky, but he still pitied Yuuko, Georgi, and Takeshi on the afternoon shift.

It was a pain, but an important one. Sacre-Coeur was a Division I team, consistently top 5 in the nation ( _Until now,_ chided Yuuri’s treacherous brain), but the Fencing Club was about more than just competition; they welcomed students at all skill levels. Yuuri loved the idea of fencing for fun and attracting new members, but now that he was captain, it just meant more responsibility.

Phichit and Chris shook hands and took little bows after their friendly demonstration, both of them smiling wide as the small crowd of students clapp ed. Chris was at least half a foot taller than Phichit, but Phichit made up for his lack of reach with speed, flexibility, and pure energy. From what Yuuri had seen in practice so far, Phichit’s philosophy seemed to be “you miss all the shots you don’t take, so take all the shots.”

“He won,” came a voice to Yuuri's left. Yuuri turned to find a student from his Physics class pointing at Phichit. Yuuri couldn’t remember his name from the initial roll call, maybe Lee? He was dressed all in black, wearing long sleeves despite the late summer heat.

“We’re not keeping score,” Yuuri explained, even though his classmate was right. He must have been more than just a casual observer if he could interpret the flurry of motion well enough to tell. Yuuri offered him a flier. “The club has open practice on Tuesdays, if you’re interested?”

“No,” said his classmate, brushing past Yuuri and his flier without another word.

Yuuri didn’t dwell on it, focusing instead on the students who were interested in fencing. Maybe one out of every few dozen would actually show up, and only a handful of those students would stick with it, but it was worth the effort. _And maybe one of them can take over as captain next year._ He could imagine Yakov now, grabbing a random student by the collar—“Anyone’s better than Katsuki—”

Phichit startled him out of his nightmare. “Your turn!” he said before cracking open a water bottle for a long drink. “Chris and I got the crowd warmed up for you, so go finish them off!”

“I’m not demonstrating today.” Yuuri was the only sabre fencer there; Ketty had classes all day, Isaac was sick with some mystery virus that Yuuri suspected was just a hangover, and Lydia was under strict doctor’s orders to rest her sprained wrist. Yuuri could have used a different weapon, but he wouldn’t do foil or épée justice. Besides, handing out fliers and fielding spectator questions was keeping him plenty busy.

“Pity,” said Chris, dabbing at the sweat on his forehead with a hand towel. “If you put on a show, they’ll be beating down the doors on Tuesdays.”

Yuuri laughed out loud. “Yeah, right. Like anyone is out here dying to see me fence.” 

“On the contrary, Yuuri,” said a silky voice in his ear. “You might be surprised.”

“Viktor!” Yuuri jumped a good foot into the air. Viktor was standing right behind him. Why did people keep sneaking up on him today? (And what did that say about his reflexes?)

“Perfect timing!” Chris pushed Viktor and Yuuri together, his hands very, very low on their lower backs. “Now you have someone to fence with, Yuuri.”

“Good thing I made sure to bring the practice sabres!” Phichit cried. This was definitely a set up.

Viktor raised an eyebrow, a slow smile spreading across his face. Was he in on it, too?! “I suppose we have no choice but to demonstrate,” he said. “We wouldn’t want to give these good people an incomplete picture of our sport, now would we?”

Is it still our sport if you’re not competing? Yuuri beat the thought down as soon as it floated into his head.

He hadn’t been training with Viktor for very long, but it had been long enough for him to wonder when, if ever, they would actually spar. He hadn’t asked, because he was more than content to take what he could get, but he both craved and dreaded it.

“Okay,” he said. Anything for the team. “Okay, sure.”

Viktor broke into the widest grin, so bright that Yuuri couldn’t take the full force of it. He looked away under the guise of fetching his weapon.

Phichit tugged at Chris’s sleeve. “Oh, shit, it’s happening!”

“We better get fire protection on standby,” said Chris, crossing his arms.

Yuuri’s face just kept getting hotter and he couldn’t wait to get the mask on. What was his problem? He did this almost every day. Viktor wasn’t that different from any other opponent. They had faced each other before, and with much higher stakes.

So why did Yuuri’s ribs feel too small for his lungs? Why did it feel like this friendly demonstration would make or break him?

Viktor didn’t look nervous at all. He was almost as excited as Phichit, bouncing from one foot to the other to a rhythm only he could hear.

Was Yuuri imagining it, or had the crowd just gotten a whole lot thicker? He swallowed and tried to rationalize it. Of course people want to see a two-time Olympic gold medalist. They didn’t care that Yuuri was about to get trounced. But they’re still going to laugh when it happens.

Someone started chanting “Yuu-ri! Yuu-ri!” It had to be Phichit. Large hands—Chris’s—squeezed his shoulders from behind in what was probably supposed to be a comforting massage.

“Please stop,” Yuuri croaked.

“Who?” Phichit wondered.

“Both of you.”

Viktor pouted from the other side of their makeshift gear storage tarp. “I’m feeling very unloved right now.”

“I’ll come give you some love,” Chris said, rounding the tarp. Viktor moaned while Chris worked on his shoulders. “So tense, Viktor!”

“Of course I’m tense,” Viktor said. “I’m up against Yuuri.”

Yuuri wanted to laugh out loud, because it all had to be a joke. Viktor, nervous to spar with him?  Viktor, nervous at all?

“You got this, Yuuri,” said Phichit. “Don't let him take you down. And if you do go down, go down  on him. Thrusting. Like a—”

“I got it,” Yuuri cut him off before he got even more carried away.

Phichit and Chris came back together behind him. “Gimme your phone,” Phichit urged Chris. “I need video and stills.”

Of course Phichit was going to record this. Yuuri cringed.

“Both phones at once? Talented.” Chris tapped around the screen while Phichit watched, presumably t o start up to the camera app, then handed his phone over.

Phichit whistled. “That’s a whole lot of nudes, my friend.”

“My body is a temple. It needs to be captured for posterity,” said Chris. “Feel free to scroll through.”

Yuuri shook his head. Nothing surprised him. Last year, Chris had made a habit of parading around their suite in nothing but a towel. Phichit raised a curious eyebrow, and Yuuri wondered. He wondered when Phichit and Chris sparred at practice, too.

But then Viktor was stretching on the grass, rays of sunshine like spotlights on his toned arms, and that was all Yuuri could think about.

“Don’t go easy on me because I’m out of practice, Yuuri,” Viktor called, catching him in the act.

Stretching. Right. It had a purpose. Yuuri gave his chin a furtive swipe for drool and copied him, managing to squeak out, “I’ll do my best for you, Viktor.” He respected Viktor too much to give him anything but his best.

Viktor’s lips parted but he said nothing, and Yuuri turned away. Why had he said something so corny?

Hands shaking, he dressed, but calm didn’t come until he wrapped his hand around the hilt of the worn practice sabre. Yuuri had to put up a fight worthy of a Team Captain. To prove to Viktor that he hadn’t made a terrible mistake. To prove to himself that he could do it.

“Shall we?” asked Viktor, mask in one hand, blade in the other.

Yuuri nodded. They saluted each other, nothing fancy, and Chris called out, “En garde!”

It was easier for Yuuri to pretend no one was watching with his mask on, but it was no use pretending he was up against anyone but Viktor. Even in beat up practice gear, Viktor cut an impressive figure.

“Prêts?”

No pressure. Just his pride and Viktor’s reputation on the line.

“Allez!”

Viktor was so fast. The conversation was over in the blink of an eye and if they were keeping score, that was definitely a point to Viktor.

“Awake, Yuuri?” Viktor called.

Yuuri nodded. When they resumed, and Viktor touched again, a light slash to his arm. Yuuri wrinkled his nose and shook his head like a wet dog, as if he could shake off whatever was holding him back. What was wrong with him?

They reset again, and this time, Yuuri’s shoe got caught in a clod of dirt and he stumbled. He wasn’t going to fall, but Viktor stopped combat and dove forward to catch him by the arm. He yanked Yuuri toward him, and only Yuuri’s honed reflexes got his sword arm out of the way before their chests collided.

“Perhaps my student needs a bit of motivation to take me seriously,” Viktor murmured, so low only Yuuri could hear. “How about dinner?”

“What?” Dinner? What was Viktor talking about?

“Loser takes the winner out to dinner. Winner picks the restaurant.”

Yuuri frowned. “But that means we’re going out to eat together no matter what.” 

“Exactly.” Somehow, Yuuri could tell Viktor was smiling under the mask.

What the hell was he playing at? Why would Viktor even want to go out to eat with him?  But before he could tamp down his brain, visions of sweet nothings over bowls of udon at Station M flooded his mind. He had to win.

They were still chest to chest.

“Show me what you can do, Yuuri.” Viktor squeezed him tighter just before he let go, but then again, Yuuri could have imagined it.

It invigorated him all the same.  He scored with a cathartic growl, then scored again. Viktor, for his part, was laughing. Laughing at Yuuri?

No. He was having fun. And even though it took a second to realize it, Yuuri was, too.

They traded touches, reading each other better with every move. Yuuri felt a trace of that ferocity Coach Celestino had mentioned, but the split second distraction was a mistake. Viktor dodged his counter-attack and seized the opening for a light tap. Tied again. Yuuri caught his breath, amazed at Viktor’s control. To keep up that intensity and speed while still pulling his punches was incredible. But he couldn’t let that distract him.

“Don’t hold back, Viktor!” Yuuri called. “Let’s dance.”

The taunt unleashed Viktor. He hit harder and shouted louder, but Yuuri could dish it even better than he could take it. Soon, all of their touches were too close to call, but no one was calling them, anyway. They didn’t need a ref to know that today, out in the scorching heat, they were evenly matched. Yuuri must have entered a parallel dimension, but he didn’t question it.

Each time they restarted, they came closer and closer together, closer than regulations allowed. So close they couldn’t really get swords between them anymore. Who cared about rules when he was close enough to hear Viktor breathing?

Yuuri couldn’t remember where they were or what they were doing. They weren’t even fighting or defending anymore. Viktor lowered his blade and touched Yuuri’s arm with his off hand again, only this time, Yuuri hadn’t stumbled. Viktor was just touching him. But why?

No one called it, and neither of them moved. They were just in each other’s space, catching their breath, staring and touching.

Was it over? He didn’t think they were there yet, but he might have missed a few points. Who had won? Did it matter?

“I’m at your mercy, Yuuri,” Viktor said softly. “Take the win.”

They must have been tied. Viktor was good enough to tell even without electronics. Yuuri should have been proud of that tie, but it had been too easy. It all made sense now. Of course they weren’t evenly matched. Viktor hadn’t been trying at all.

If the plan all along was just to concede, why even pretend to take Yuuri seriously at all? What was Viktor’s goal here?

Viktor touched him again, this time on the waist. “There. Your point.”

“Viktor...” Yuuri’s eyes went wide and he took his mask off. “Why did you do that? Did you think I couldn’t win on my own?”

Viktor looked confused when he removed his mask. It wasn’t fair, how his hair didn’t stick to his head with sweat like Yuuri’s did. “But you stopped, too. I was just following your lead.”

Yuuri’s lead? Yuuri couldn’t even lead a class project, let alone a fencing team. Viktor had to be joking.

It wasn’t a big deal. Yuuri was overreacting, and he knew it. It was just a silly demonstration, and not even a planned one. Of course it was all just a joke to a champion like Viktor.

Or maybe it was a big deal. Viktor had just thrown a bout in front of dozens of onlookers and probably anyone who followed Phichit or the team account.

Maybe this was about Viktor’s reputation. Of course it was. Yuuri couldn’t measure up on his own, so Viktor had gone to extremes to make it seem like picking Yuuri for Team Captain wasn’t the gaffe of the century. It was all just part of his grand plan to...to what?

Whatever it was, Yuuri couldn’t let him do it. He couldn’t let Viktor tarnish his own reputation like that. He didn’t know why Viktor had quit, but Yuuri sure as hell wasn’t going to be the final nail in his career.

Viktor’s laugh floated through his memory. For a moment, they had been having fun, and Yuuri’s heart sank even further. Why had Viktor quit something he loved?

It was none of his business.

“What are we doing, Viktor?” Yuuri asked.

“I thought we were trying to promote the club,” Viktor replied. That was a lie. They hadn’t even given a proper demonstration. Was Viktor still even part of the club?

“No,” said Yuuri, shaking his head. “Why do you come to my dorm in the morning and take my coffee away and make me run and do squats and planks and reverse lunges? Why?”

Viktor mouth dropped open, and it felt like minutes went by before he spoke. Longer than their sham of a bout had lasted. “I was just trying to do what you asked me to.”

“What?!” Yuuri couldn’t remember asking Viktor for anything in his life. He hadn’t even asked him to fence today—Chris had suggested it.

Viktor’s shoulders sagged. Maybe from guilt at being caught in whatever scheme he was trying to pull. His sword fell to the ground and Yuuri couldn’t help but see dollar signs. They broke enough blades as it was and keeping track of inventory was just another thing he had to worry about.

When Viktor spoke, it was barely above a whisper. “I’m trying, Yuuri. I’m trying to be your coach like you wanted, but...”

“My coach?” Yuuri spluttered. He definitely would have remembered asking Viktor to be his coach. Maybe one of the team coaches had put Viktor up to it, because they didn’t think Yuuri was fit to be captain, either. Yuuri’s thoughts spewed from his mouth as he tried to process it. “You’re an Olympian. You can do anything you want. Why bother with a nobody like me?”

“You...” Viktor looked almost pained, but he was probably just embarrassed. “You don’t want me to coach you anymore?”

“I never wanted you to be my coach. I never wanted...” _...to take you away from the sport you love,_ Yuuri finished mentally. But it was too presumptuous. Yuuri had nothing to do with Viktor’s decision to retire or put his career on hold, or whatever he was doing. Maybe Viktor wanted to focus on school. Whatever he was planning, Yuuri was just a distraction.

All he had wanted was to fence with Viktor, to show him what he could do. He had wasted his chance last year, and now he was Team Captain because Viktor thought it was so easy anyone could do it.

“But,” Viktor stammered, “last year at the party, you...”

The party? What party? The only party Yuuri could think of was Viktor’s Olympic send off, and he hadn’t even gone to that. He had gotten drunk on cheap cognac with Chris and...

_Oh no._ Yuuri couldn’t remember what he had done, but remorse crushed the last of his resolve. Somehow, he had played a hand in Viktor quitting the team. Quitting fencing. One last look at Viktor’s heartbroken face was all the confirmation he needed.

Yuuri stripped back down to his street clothes and left the practice gear on the tarp with the sword. So what if everyone at the activity fair had just witnessed his tantrum? So what if Phichit was probably still recording? Prospective members had a right to know exactly what they were getting into. _Your Team Captain, everyone!_ he thought bitterly.

He thought he heard someone calling his name as he took off. Maybe Phichit, maybe Chris, but definitely not Viktor. After that outburst, Viktor was never going to speak to him again.

The lump in the back of his throat made it hard to breathe and the tears welling up in his eyes clouded his vision, but he didn’t slow down until he reached the athletic offices. He collided with Coach Yakov’s doorframe and the man himself looked up from his desk with a start.

“Katsuki,” he said, stony in the face of Yuuri’s ugly tears.

“I resign as Captain.” He could barely get the words out, preparing himself to be banned from the team, maybe even expelled from school. Did colleges do that? Even if they didn’t, they’d make an exception for Yuuri, because he had tarnished their golden boy.

Yakov stared at him, expression unreadable. “No.”

Yuuri choked on a breath. “What?”

“It’s too soon in the semester for your grades to be suffering. I don’t see a doctor’s note in your hand.” When Yakov talked to Viktor, he could barely contain his rage, but with Yuuri, he was eerily calm. “Give me one good reason why you can’t fulfill your duties, and I’ll accept your resignation.”

Yuuri had a thousand reasons: _Because I’m not good enough? Because I don’t believe in myself and no one else believes in me? Because I don’t have what it takes? Because Viktor had to throw a match to make me look good? Because I’m terrified?_

But something told him Yakov wouldn’t accept any of those reasons. The tears stopped. Yuuri’s nose was running like a faucet and his throat and eyes still burned, but at least he wasn’t sobbing anymore.

“I...” Yuuri began. “I can’t.”

“Good,” said Yakov. He waved his hand. “Dismissed.” Yuuri nodded slowly, even though he was the one who had sought Yakov out, and turned to leave. He was three steps away down the hall when Yakov’s gruff voice called out, “Satsuki will handle the rest of the activity fair.”

Yuuri didn’t know whether to feel grateful for the save or pathetic for needing it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot what a rough chapter that was! Poor Yuuri must be exhausted from the mental gymnastics. At least Viktor set the bar for Team Captain nice and low! And what's that in the air? Is that the faintest whiff of Seungchuchu I detect?
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, and for the kudos and comments. I hope you're enjoying the way the story is unfolding.


	5. No Exceptions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri's sophomore year passes in a Viktor-less blur.

Yuuri may have been afraid to face Viktor, but he was completely unprepared for the deafening silence of no knock on his door the next morning. Huddled in his bed, he stared at his phone and watched the minutes crawl by.

Viktor wasn’t coming.

Yuuri was awake before Phichit, and Viktor wasn’t here. He got up and ran anyway, hoping it would clear his head. He didn’t run into Viktor. He didn’t get any coffee, either.

Phichit looked up from his phone the moment Yuuri got back to the dorm.

“How did it go with Viktor?” Phichit asked with a wince. “I didn’t hear him knock.”

Of course he had noticed, too. Phichit had given Yuuri space the night before, and he hadn’t even uploaded the video of the disastrous practice bout, but Yuuri probably couldn’t get away without an explanation any longer.

So, Yuuri sat down on his bed and told Phichit everything he remembered. There wasn’t much to tell.

“You guys killed a whole bottle of cognac in one night? Damn, Yuuri,” Phichit said once he was done. “But it sounds like you need to talk to Chris. You definitely need to talk to Viktor, but maybe Chris can fill in some of the blanks first.”

Talking to Chris was something he could handle, and Chris was only too happy to meet him and Phichit for dinner.

“Really? You don’t remember any of the party?” Chris wondered aloud. “You disappeared upstairs and then came back down with Viktor. Everyone assumed you two had been polishing your blades up there.”

Phichit’s eyes went wide and he shot Yuuri an expectant look.

“ _Everyone?_ ” Yuuri blurted. The entire fencing team thought he had slept with Viktor?! 

Chris shrugged. He scrolled through the endless nude selfies in his camera roll, all the way back to last year, to a blurry picture of Viktor and Yuuri, embracing. Viktor’s head was thrown back, exposing his gorgeous neck, but that wasn’t what held Yuuri’s attention. Viktor’s eyes were positively alight with laughter. Was that what he looked like under the mask yesterday? Yuuri had never seen him like that before, at least not that he could remember.

Meanwhile, the Yuuri in the photo looked like he was ready to swallow Viktor whole.

Was it a doctored photo? A trick of the light? Or maybe he had a doppelgänger, because there was no way the real Yuuri could ever be so comfortable and confident around Viktor. 

Phichit made a choked sound.

“You two were dancing so close, it seemed obvious,” said Chris.

Phichit gaped at Chris, then Yuuri. “I can’t believe I missed this, all because I was born a year too late! Oh, you better believe my parents are going to hear about this!”

“Please don’t tell your parents, Phichit,” Yuuri whimpered. 

“It was adorable,” said Chris. “I’ve never seen Viktor smile so much.”

Phichit cooed but Yuuri just shook his head. Something still didn’t add up. “Did I say anything about coaching that night?” Yuuri gulped and added, “Did I tell Viktor to quit?”

Chris shrugged again. “If you did, I don’t remember. I was rather gone myself.” Right. At least they had split the bottle.

“I can’t believe I was wasting my time in high school when this magical moment was happening,” Phichit moaned, clutching Chris’s phone. “Can I put this on Insta?”

“No!” Yuuri shrieked. Chris and Phichit’s eyes met and Yuuri didn’t like the look they shared, but he was too panicked to care.

He had made a drunken ass of himself and led Viktor on. And right before the Olympics, too! Yuuri’s stomach dropped out. What if they had—how did Chris put it?— _ buffed each other’s blades? _ Would it have come before or after he told Viktor to quit and become his coach? Had Viktor had made him captain as punishment? He was never going to drink again.

Phichit let out another groan, pulling Yuuri from his own head. “You’re so lucky you witnessed

this,” he gushed, still gazing at the picture like it was The Birth of Venus. 

“Can we just forget about it?” Yuuri said, his cheeks getting hotter.

“I thought you already did,” Chris replied, locking the screen. Phichit pouted when the image vanished, and Yuuri’s heart sank deeper into his gut. But no matter how hard he stared at the picture, it wouldn’t tell him what he had said to Viktor that night.

“You know, you could just ask Viktor what you said,” Phichit said, so close to Yuuri’s thoughts it was uncanny. Phichit wasn’t pouting anymore. He seemed to always bounce back quickly, on and off the piste.

Yuuri wished he could absorb some of Phichit’s optimism, and some of his confidence. “I don’t think he wants to talk to me anymore.” Mentally, he added,  _ I doubt he ever did. _

Chris ran his fingers over the beginnings of a goatee on his chin. “Just give him some time to cool off. No one can stay away from you for long, least of all Viktor.”

But, just as Yuuri suspected, Chris was wrong—Viktor could stay away from him just fine. Viktor didn’t come to practice anymore and Yuuri never saw him on campus, even though their majors should have put them in the same buildings for class.

Not that Yuuri had looked into it. That would have been weird.

The nagging fear that he had hurt Viktor and the temptation to text him prodded at his brain, but Yuuri got used to it. Classes, homework, competitions, practice, and his duties as Team Captain had him so busy that he tended to collapse on his bed in a heap every night and black out until the next morning, no alcohol required.

Living with Phichit was the only thing that kept him from becoming a hollow shell of a person. Not only was Phichit the first to volunteer when the team needed anything, but he was also great at making Yuuri laugh. Whether it was a fencing meme, a random video, or just something weird that Phichit had witnessed on campus that day, he kept Yuuri from spiraling.

Yuuri looked forward to their post-match katsudon dates at Station M more than anything.

Phichit was busy himself, but unlike Yuuri, he could pull it off— _ seriously, how did Phichit always look so put together?  _ When Phichit wasn’t practicing or doing schoolwork, he was editing pictures and posts for the team’s social media accounts. Under his care, followers were booming; Phichit kept tallies on the whiteboard in their room, usually with drawings of cartoon hamsters or poodles underneath. One of Yuuri’s favorites was a doodle of himself with a cape. Phichit had dubbed the doodle  _ Captain Yuuri,  _ and he popped up in their texts sometimes, usually with inspirational messages in Thai or Japanese. Yuuri couldn’t begin to say how much it meant to him.

Yuuri couldn’t draw, so he tried to return the favor by staying on top of Phichit’s Instagram posts. It kept him on his toes—Phichit was just so fast!

Phichit was getting faster on the piste, too. Yuuri didn’t rank his teammates, but if push came to shove, he would call Phichit the rising star of the team. He had placed first in his last three competitions and seemed to thrive under pressure.

Phichit had taken to working out with Yuuri in Viktor’s stead, and even though Phichit didn’t push him in the same way Viktor had, it made the process a whole lot more enjoyable than exercising alone. Yuuri couldn’t get behind Phichit’s green smoothies, though.

They were halfway through the season and most of the way through the semester when Coach Celestino pulled him aside after practice.

“Nice work today, Yuuri!” he said. “I have a good feeling about the next match!”

“Thanks, Coach.” Yuuri really needed to get back to his room to study for his Physics exam, but it seemed like there was more Celestino wanted to say.

“You seem to be hitting your stride,” Celestino continued. “Georgi and Anya can’t say enough good things about you, and Phichit’s been unstoppable ever since you started working with him. It’s like night and day.”

Yuuri nodded. “He’s really incredible. Yuuko and Takeshi are in top form, too.”

Celestino’s bright smile wavered. “But I do worry that you’re not being challenged enough. I know that sabre’s been”—he hesitated—“different without Viktor.”

“About that...” Emboldened, because this was probably his only chance, Yuuri asked, “Where has Viktor been?”

Celestino tilted his head. “What do you mean? He’s not on the team anymore.” 

“Right.” As if Yuuri could forget. “But I never see him on campus. I’m...” 

“Worried about him?” Celestino supplied. His smile was a little too knowing.

Yuuri’s eyes went wide. Did Celestino know about the activity fair? Of course he did. It had unfolded in the middle of campus. Yuuri shifted his weight from foot to foot. Did Celestino blame him for Viktor quitting? Did Yakov blame him?

“I’m surprised you heard about it,” said Celestino, unfazed by Yuuri’s anxious display. “Then again, Viktor took it pretty hard when Yakov turned his offer down.”

“His offer? What offer?” Yuuri frowned. Were they talking about the same thing?

Celestino furrowed his brow. “His offer to help coach the team. What did you think I was talking about?”

“Nothing!” Yuuri shook his head, still trying to process the news. Viktor had asked to help coach the Sacre-Coeur team?  _ That must be the real reason he’s upset,  _ he thought _.  _ That made so much more sense, and it made everything so much worse. Yuuri might have asked Viktor to be his coach last year, but Viktor wanted to be a coach for real. Yuuri was just practice.

The realization stung, but not as badly as the knowledge that he had kicked Viktor while he was down. No wonder Viktor wouldn’t speak to him anymore.

“Are you all right, Yuuri?” Celestino patted his shoulder. “You look like you’re headed for a funeral! Don’t worry about Viktor. He’s been helping the Carrington High team a few nights a week. There are some promising fencers there.”

Viktor was volunteering with a high school team? Yuuri had heard of Carrington, only because it was basically a feeder school for Sacre-Coeur fencing.

“I bet you’ll be competing against them soon!” Celestino said blithely. He rubbed his hands together. “But I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something else. I know Coach Yakov’s been a little...”

_ Grumpy? Irate? On the rampage?  _ Lots of descriptions came to mind, but Yuuri settled on, “Preoccupied?” 

Celestino nodded. “But the fact is, he’s the best sabre coach in the country. If you wanted, I could speak to him.”

Yuuri knew where he was going with this. Celestino had recruited Yuuri himself, and he had taken him under his wing. Even though he was primarily a foil fencer, he was a good coach, and Yuuri thought they got along well. Was Celestino giving up on him, just like Viktor had?

“Don’t take this the wrong way. I enjoy coaching you and I’d love to keep working with you. I just wanted you to know that you have options. I won’t be upset if you wanted to explore them.”

Coach Celestino knew Yuuri pretty well, but Coach Yakov had yet to warm up to him. He worked one on one with Yuuri every now and then in group practices, but never much beyond a quick correction or a gruff “good.”

This definitely wasn’t Yakov’s idea, and Yuuri had a sinking suspicion that Celestino was only offering Yakov’s services because of an Olympic-sized opening in his coaching schedule.

Yuuri could never replace Viktor, but he didn’t want to be Yakov’s consolation prize, either. Celestino was the one who believed in him. If Yakov thought he had promise, he would have offered to work with Yuuri by now. 

“Thanks for the offer, Coach, but I like working with you,” Yuuri said.

Celestino nodded, thinking for a moment before breaking into a smile. “Well, then we’ll keep doing what we’ve been doing!”

That was enough, wasn’t it?

Yuuri stayed up all night studying for his Physics exam. It wasn’t the final, but it was worth 40% of the semester grade. Phichit was in the library working on some group project, so Yuuri had the room to himself. Whenever he felt his eyes getting heavy, he would look at the little poodle on the whiteboard. Phichit had given him a little speech bubble, and right now it said GANBA in Phichit’s attempt at katakana. The message made Yuuri smile every time, and he pushed himself to study just a little longer.

He only got about three hours of sleep. Yuuri had no idea when Phichit got back, but he was still passed out when Yuuri left for class. Yuuri made it with time to spare, but he couldn’t stop yawning.

Professor Park had just started the exam when the door cracked open.

The guy who had called Phichit and Chris’s fencing exhibition walked in, looking even more exhausted than Yuuri felt.

Professor Park didn’t share Yuuri’s sympathy. “Lee,” she snapped. “You know I don’t tolerate disruptions.”

“I’m only a minute late,” Lee said. It was the most Yuuri had ever heard him say.

“I told everyone on the first day that tardiness is unacceptable. Everyone else managed to remember.”

“But—”

“No exceptions.” Professor Park’s voice cut through the room, sharp as a knife.

Lee opened his mouth like he was going to say something else, but he just turned on his heel and left. The door slammed shut behind him, making half of the students jump.

Professor Park went back to grading papers at her desk like it was just another day, but Yuuri’s heart pounded in his chest. Poor Lee (Yuuri still couldn’t remember his first name). He forced himself to focus on his test, but his eyes kept drifting to the door. Yuuri could have easily slept through his alarm, and then he’d be the one losing out on hundreds of points.

He managed to finish the test and turn it in, but he was halfway back to his dorm when he realized he had forgotten to copy down the homework assignment for that night (due by midnight and not posted online, because Professor Park was completely unreasonable).

Yuuri had no choice but to turn around. If he could get there just before class ended then he could sneak in, get the assignment, and sneak out.

The back door was open when he got back to the lecture hall, but it looked empty. Professor Park was notorious for not trusting grad students to do any grading for her, and she was usually in the classroom a little after her allotted time, getting her tests organized the way she liked.

“What part of  _ no exceptions _ didn’t you understand?” Professor Park’s voice made him jump. But she wasn’t talking to him. She was talking to Lee. Yuuri ducked behind the door, his heart pounding. He didn’t want to eavesdrop, but he couldn’t see the board from where he was standing.

“I know. Is there anything I can do to make up the points?” Lee’s voice was so quiet Yuuri could barely hear him.

“Is that what you’re going to ask your boss when you’ve missed work for the third time in a week? There are no makeups in real life.”

“This is the first time I’ve been late,” Lee said.

“Irrelevant.” Professor Park clicked her tongue. “I suggest you study for the final and show up on time, and if you can’t manage that, then perhaps Sacre-Coeur isn’t the right place for you.”

Lee said nothing. Yuuri heard Professor Park’s heels clacking on the tile and he peeked around the corner just as she grabbed the eraser.

_ Chapter 27 Questions 9-18 _

Yuuri scrawled it on his hand right before she wiped it off to board. Professor Park grabbed her briefcase and left through the main door of the lecture hall, her heels echoing through the empty room.

Lee didn’t move. He just stared at the spot where she had stood.

Yuuri felt for him. Really, he did. But he was torn. Should he say something or just try to leave unnoticed? Phichit would have known what to do. He would have broken the tension with a joke, and then he would have asked Lee to study with him. Maybe bought him a coffee. They’d probably end up friends.

But Yuuri was not Phichit, so he inched out of the room, backwards. Right into the door. It barely made a sound but Lee’s head snapped toward him.

They stared at each other—were those tears in Lee’s eyes?

Now, Yuuri had to say something. It wasn’t like he could make this any more awkward, and he was something of an expert on crying since he did it almost weekly. Maybe they had more in common than he thought.

“Professor Park is really unfair,” Yuuri said.

Lee’s blank expression soured. His eyes—he was definitely crying—narrowed. “What the fuck do you care?” he spat.

Yuuri recoiled even though they were nowhere near each other. “I just wanted to say I think she should give you another chance. I barely made it on time myself,” he stammered. “If it had been me..."

He meant it in a sympathetic way, but Lee’s lip curled in a snarl. “But it wasn’t. Leave me alone.”

“Okay,” Yuuri said. Lee was rightfully upset and he probably wasn’t acting normal. Yuuri was prone to acting out, too. What did Phichit do to calm him down? He didn’t give up, so Yuuri gave it one more try. “But if you want someone to—”

“Leave me alone.” Lee’s voice was louder this time. Final. Yuuri didn’t respond. At least he had tried.

Lee left through the main door without another word, but Yuuri didn’t miss him wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his black hoodie.

They didn’t even make eye contact for the rest of the semester, but they both made it to the final on time. Still, Yuuri had to admit he was relieved when Lee wasn’t in his Physics section the next semester.

Second semester of sophomore year was a blur. Yuuri had to keep track of team events as well as his own competitions, all the while painfully aware that his rank was falling.

Even Phichit was starting to crack under the pressure. He kept up his winning streak and ran the accounts as diligently as ever, but the tallies were way behind and no new art had graced the whiteboard in months. He had even gone to class without changing clothes a few times.

Worst of all, they had skipped some katsudon dates at Station M.

And even when the NCAA Championships were over (great for the team, not so great for Yuuri) and finals were done, there was no relief, because the World Championships were coming.

At least they had time to celebrate before heading home for the summer.

“Where’s that place you and Phichit always go?” Chris asked. Yuuri and Phichit exchanged glances, Yuuri’s nervous and Phichit’s excited. Yuuri wasn’t sure if he was ready to share his sanctuary with anyone but Phichit, even though Morooka could use the business.

“I don’t know,” said Phichit, stretching his arms over his head. “I’m kind of feeling pizza.” 

“It’s called Station M,” Yuuri blurted. “It’s the best Japanese place in town.”

Chris grinned and dropped an arm around his shoulder. “Lead the way!”

Most of the team ended up tagging along, which had Yuuri rethinking his sudden cry for companionship. It made sense, since several of them had qualified, but there were too many people squeezed into the booth. Even safely between Phichit and Chris, it was getting hard for Yuuri to breathe.

At least Phichit was happy. He must have taken a hundred pictures already. Though he never complained, Phichit craved socialization—more than Yuuri could really give. He just hoped Phichit wouldn’t get tired of him before the end of college.

“Wow, Yuuri!” said Georgi, through a mouth full of udon. “This place is delicious! It’s a shame I just graduated, I would have eaten here every week.”

Maybe Yuuri was seeing things, but it looked like Anya was sneering at Georgi.

“What about your band?” Chris asked. “Are they disowning you now that you’re going to be a working stiff?”

Georgi held his head high. “They’re very supportive of my endeavors. And they’re all jealous that I’m moving to Seattle.”

That must have been why Anya was upset. Georgi was moving away. Yuuri could understand. He hadn’t seen Viktor in months, and while he wasn’t mad, he still thought about their last bout almost every day.  _ And you aren’t even dating, _ he reminded himself.

“But,” Georgi was saying, “you should all come to my farewell concert. It’ll be at The Catacombs, last Wednesday in August.”

“Oh, I’ll tell Viktor,” said Chris. “He’d love to come.”

Yuuri almost spat out a mouthful of rice. He swallowed so hard it felt like a rock was forcing its way down his esophagus. “You’ve talked to Viktor?!”

Chris nodded, like it was no big deal. “We’re friends, Yuuri. Where have you been?”  _ Where have I been? _ he thought.  _ Where has Viktor been? _

But at the same time, he desperately wanted to know if Viktor was okay, how coaching was going, if he was drinking enough water...

“He says he’d love to come!” Chris announced, totally oblivious to Yuuri’s internal crisis. “I’ll remind him again closer to the day, of course. You know how he is”

Yuuri stared at Chris’s phone, now sitting facedown on the table. Viktor was right there—well, somewhere else, but answering texts—and all Yuuri had to do was reach out to him.

But they weren’t friends. What was Yuuri supposed to say?  _ Come fence with me, I need a sabre sparring partner? _ That made him sound like a user.

“So, Phichit,” said Yuuko, perhaps sensing the need for a topic change. “Your first World Championships! Anything you want to know?”

“I was just going to wing it,” he said. “That way I won’t be disappointed!” 

Takeshi frowned. “But you do want to win, don’t you?”

“Yeah!” Fire blazed in Phichit’s eyes, the same fire that burned every time he sprinted with Yuuri. “Of course I do! All I can do is do my best and see what happens.”

Chris stroked Phichit’s cheek. “And he knows he has to beat me.”

“I’ve been beating you all season, Christophe.” Phichit fluttered his lashes and smiled up at him sweetly.

Yuuri was used to Chris flirting, but Phichit reciprocating was new. What else had Yuuri missed this year?

Now that Yuuri thought about it, Phichit had been complaining about his lack of  _ action. _ Yuuri hadn’t given it much thought, but Chris apparently had.

“Meet me after this and we’ll see who comes out on top.”

It was the sort of offer Chris had tossed at Yuuri back in freshman year—a tease, but an invitation just the same. Yuuri wondered where it went, but he didn’t ask either of them.

It didn’t come up again, not in Phichit and Yuuri’s texts over the summer and not when they roomed together for the World Fencing Championships in Germany.

They both had bigger things on their minds.

Phichit’s excitement was contagious—his first World Championships, his first time in Europe, his first legal beer—but it wasn’t enough to pull Yuuri out of his stupor.

Yuuri had been working all season for this and he still wasn’t ready. He couldn’t empty his mind or focus on the present; all he could think about was the misprint on the team shirts at the end of the semester, the month-long shipping delay, and hand-addressing dozens of padded envelopes to get them out to the team.

“Don’t you think you’re taking it a little too far?” Mari had asked, even though she’d helped him stuff the envelopes.

Yuuri shook his head. He needed to get his head back in the game before his next bout; he had barely beaten a Canadian fencer this morning. His next opponent actually had the same first name as him, which might have been funny if he wasn’t in such a funk.

Viktor’s wasn’t the only vacancy that had shaken up the men’s sabre field. This other Yuri, Yuri Plisetsky, only squeaked in because a veteran retired at the last minute. But that meant he had momentum on his side, while Yuuri was just standing still. What was he waiting for? It wasn’t like Viktor was suddenly going to call his name and snap him out of it.

“Yuuri.”

Yuuri whirled around. That sounded just like Viktor.

If Yuuri was hearing things, he was seeing things, too. There was Viktor, just as handsome as the last time Yuuri had seen him, but he wasn’t even looking in Yuuri’s direction.

Viktor was holding a mask, and for a breathless second Yuuri wondered if he was competing. But he was in plain clothes. His companion, much smaller than him, was dressed to fence. That had to be the other Yuri. His heart sank. Why was Yuri Plisetsky with Viktor? Was he a Carrington High fencer? 

Yuuri couldn’t get a good look at him because his shaggy blond hair obscured most of his face. From the way Viktor was frowning at him and waving an elastic band in his face, he seemed to find this objectionable, too. But they weren’t speaking English, at least not entirely. Was that Russian? It sounded nice on Viktor’s tongue and harsh on Yuri’s.

“Fine,” Yuri snapped in English, so loud that Yuuri jumped. He pulled his hair in a half-ponytail and turned to glare at Yuuri. “Take a picture, pig. It’ll last longer.”

Viktor followed Yuri’s eyes and started when he saw Yuuri. That confirmed it—Viktor hadn’t even known Yuuri was here. He probably thought Yuuri hadn’t qualified. But Viktor just waved brightly like no time had passed at all. “Hi, Yuuri! Good luck today!”

“Hey!” Yuri Plisetsky snarled. “Whose side are you on?”

Viktor crossed his arms. “It’s called sportsmanship, Yuri. You might try it.”

“Maybe I’d be a better sport if I had a better coach,” Yuri grumbled.

Viktor was  _ his _ personal coach? The word stung, and not just because Yuri spat it out like poison.

“Hello, Viktor! Good to see you again, Yuri!” Celestino appeared at Yuuri’s side, completely oblivious of what he had walked into. But his presence sent Yuri’s posture from combative to just dejected.

“Coach Celestino! Good to see you.” Viktor smiled the same smile he had flashed Yuuri, and up close, Yuuri could see just how tight Viktor’s lips were. Maybe he wasn’t as over it as he seemed.

Celestino laughed. “Ah, forgive me! I should call you Coach Viktor. You’ve done so well with your team.”

“You’re too kind,” Viktor said.

Yuri rolled his eyes. “Way too kind.”

Viktor’s lips went even thinner. Celestino didn’t seem to notice.

“Minami was so close to qualifying,” Celestino went on. “You must be proud of your students.”

Kenjirou Minami was one of Viktor’s students, too? Yuuri recognized the name. Minami had beaten Yuuri once, earlier this season. Had Viktor seen that, too? Was he hiding in plain sight, or in some sort of disguise, just to see how poorly Yuuri was doing without him?

“Oh, yes, it’s quite rewarding,” said Viktor. But he was looking at something far off in the distance. Yuuri snuck a glance in the same direction, but he couldn’t see anything.

“You better be ready for me, Katsuki. I wanna beat you at your best.” It sounded friendly enough that Celestino didn’t seem to notice the menacing look in Yuri Plisetsky’s eyes.

Yuuri couldn’t think of a response. Viktor turned away without another word, and Yuri followed. “Plisetsky’s quick,” said Celestino. “But you’re quicker. Just don’t give him an opening.”

Yuuri heard the advice, understood it on principle, but when their bout came, he couldn’t deliver.

Like a bad dream, his limbs were too slow, and he only scored a few points.

Yuri, on the other hand, delivered so many hits to his head that Yuuri was seeing stars before the match was over. Every time Yuri scored, he would grunt in frustration bordering on rage, and when it came time to shake hands, he could barely contain his contempt for Yuuri.

“Don’t know why you even bothered coming,” Yuri hissed through gritted teeth. No one would mistake it for a smile, but Yuuri just nodded.

“Good job,” he said. All he wanted was to go back to his hotel room and cry.

Then he locked eyes with Viktor, and he didn’t even make it back to the room before tears streamed down his cheeks.

The rest of the event passed in hazy flashes.

Phichit’s encouraging words that night, in one ear and out the other.

Yuuko’s third place finish, her first time ever on the podium at Worlds. Cheering her on but not being able to recall a single detail from her winning match.

Anya leaving right before Georgi’s final bout of the day, arm in arm with another man.

Georgi’s breakdown, his abysmal performance. Feeling sorry for him but not knowing what to say.

Phichit defeating Chris and placing ninth overall. Feeling truly happy for his roommate but still needing to force a smile.

Chris celebrating his own tenth place finish by kissing a handsome stranger. Phichit’s disbelief at Yuuri’s ignorance—“That’s his boyfriend, Yuuri, where have you been?”

The team event, a silver. Yuuri scoring the fewest points of his team.

All he wanted was to go home, but first he had to go to a joint celebration with the Carrington kids. He didn’t have any beer. Viktor was there and Yuuri wasn’t about to make that mistake again.

Nothing seemed real until a hand—Viktor’s—touched his shoulder. Tentative, warm, so calming it was frightening. Yuuri had no business letting Viktor’s touch affect him so much.

“Hey. Can I sit by you?” Viktor offered him a smile, small but genuine (as far as Yuuri could tell). 

“Sure.” Yuuri couldn’t say no to that face. Not again.

Viktor took a seat and folded his hands on the table. “It’s good to see you again. Been a while.”

“Yeah.” Apparently, Yuuri couldn’t manage more than one word replies. Viktor’s words were benign, anyway. He could have said them to anyone.

_ Except he kept in touch with everyone but me. _

“You know how I know it’s been too long?” Viktor turned to him, then, eyes soft. “I almost forgot how beautiful your form was. I think it’s even better now.”

Yuuri’s lips parted, but he couldn’t find even one word to say.

Viktor had more.

“Yuri’s all teeth. His technique hasn't caught up yet. Kenjirou’s just trying to be like you, but how can he? You’re a masterpiece.”

Yuuri had to look away. Viktor’s eyes were too bright, his smile too warm. “He beat me in Virginia.”

“That doesn’t change what I said.”

Yuuri was no masterpiece. He wasn’t even a paint-by-number. How could Viktor still say that when Yuuri was just another mediocre fencer and a laughable captain?

_ It’s Viktor’s fault you’re in over your head, _ came a treacherous thought. Yuuri tamped it down immediately. If only all his thoughts were so easy to dismiss.

Viktor sighed. “I’ve missed you.”

Yuuri heard him, understood his words, but he could only guess at what they meant. Viktor probably missed fencing with adults. Maybe he just missed fencing.

“Did you miss me?” Viktor asked, almost playful.

Yuuri’s thoughts devolved into chaos. Of course he missed Viktor. The whole team missed Viktor. He missed watching Viktor fence, he missed Viktor banging on his door and depriving him of coffee, he missed just knowing Viktor was nearby.

Viktor smiled and reached for Yuuri’s chin. Before, Yuuri hadn’t been able to speak, but now he couldn’t even move.

“I know you did, because if you had spent any time with me, you would have known to guard your head”—he poked Yuuri in the forehead—“against Yuri. What on earth were you doing up there? Fencing foil? You’ve been training with Phichit, haven’t you?” Viktor didn’t wait for a reply. “Why didn’t you ask Yakov to coach you instead of Celestino? I thought for sure he’d offer. Yakov always said he wished I had half your dedication.”

This had to be a dream. Yuuri must have passed out at the table. He just needed to wake up.

Viktor shot out of his seat, calling, “Yakov! Yakov!”

“What do you want?” came Yakov’s gruff reply. “Don’t tell me you’ve finally come to your senses.” 

“Why aren’t you coaching Yuuri?” Viktor stayed cool even as Yakov seethed.

“He said he wanted to work with Celestino.”

Viktor frowned. “Why would you listen to him? He just said that because he’s afraid to succeed.” Yuuri picked the wrong moment to sip his water, and he almost spit it out. Had Viktor forgotten he was listening?

_ And besides, I’m afraid of failure,  _ Yuuri told himself.

Then again, he had never really thought about the difference before.

“If you know him so well, why don’t you train him?” Yakov fired back.

Viktor gasped and he launched himself at Yakov. “Do you mean it? Did you change your mind?” 

“What?!” Yakov was practically foaming at the mouth. “That’s not what I—”

But now the entire team was watching, including Celestino and Satsuki.

“Give him a chance,” Celestino said.

Satsuki nodded. “He’s done so well at Carrington.”

Even Yakov, it seemed, could be bullied. “Fine, Viktor. You can help coach the team.” Viktor squealed in delight and Yakov shook him off his arm. “But one slip up and you’re gone! Got it?”

“I accept your offer!” Viktor cried.

“What the fuck?!” It was Yuri Plisetsky. “You were supposed to be my coach. You were supposed to coach  _ my _ team!”

Yakov nodded at Yuri. “Come train at Sacre-Coeur. Our facilities are incomparable, and you could use the challenge.” He jerked a thumb toward Yuuri. “You can train with him.”

Yuuri and Yuri looked at each other, Yuuri’s eyes wide and Yuri’s narrow.

“See?” said Viktor. He smiled and put a hand on each of their shoulders. “This works better for everyone.” 

Yuri twisted out of Viktor’s grip. “Don’t touch me!”

Yuuri, on the other hand, was happy to let Viktor touch him anywhere he wanted. He had no idea what next year would bring, but with Viktor smiling down at him, it felt like things were finally looking up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some hope and happiness for Viktor and Yuuri after a grim chapter. Next week's chapter is one of my favorites because of a little ship called Seungchuchu. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, leaving kudos, and commenting! I'm so glad I brought this story back.


	6. Sex Hair Special

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phichit is determined to be a more well-rounded college student, with a little help from his new friend...

Phichit came home from Worlds to conflicted parents. On the one hand, they were proud of his fencing accomplishments and thrilled for his success on the piste, but on the other hand...

His grades had slipped. A lot. Phichit wasn’t happy about it, either. It wasn’t that he hadn’t tried, it was just that there were only so many hours in the day and something had to give.

At least he had boosted the team’s Instagram to a respectable number of followers, up by almost a thousand after Worlds (thanks to Viktor’s unexpected return). Even Yuuri, who would go weeks without liking a post, had commented on every single picture featuring Viktor.

Viktor, in turn, had responded to every single one of Yuuri’s comments. Just reading their little exchanges made Phichit giddy. So far, Yuuri hadn’t changed his relationship status, but Phichit kept his fingers crossed. He would gladly spend every night in the library if it meant Yuuri and Viktor could be happy together.

At least someone in their dorm would be getting a little action. Phichit’s love life was in even worse shape than his grades.

Seeing old friends over the summer was another mixed bag. Some of them were jealous of Phichit’s fencing career, but when they regaled him with tales of drunken nights and illicit hookups, Phichit wondered if he wasn’t the one who was missing out.

Competing was exhilarating, and he had made so many great friends on the team, but it had been a dry year all around: hardly a drop of alcohol, no sex, and no wild parties like he saw in movies. 

Social media management was a full time job even without managing a competitive fencing career, and that didn’t leave time for a boyfriend. The closest he had come was some charged sparring with Chris, but Chris had some (albeit blurry) lines he wouldn’t cross—not to mention a boyfriend, which was a dealbreaker. Chris and Phichit were friends and everything was cool now, but it hadn’t helped with his growing frustration.

The whole year had him reevaluating his life choices. He had always done the “friends first” sort of dating, but he was starting to see the merits of more efficient arrangements—not that he had managed to squeeze any of those in last year, either. Any free time Phichit had managed to scrape together was spent getting to know Yuuri. He wouldn’t trade that time for anything, but now that he and Yuuri were solid, Phichit wanted another sort of companionship.

It probably wasn’t what his parents had in mind when they had told him he needed to find balance in his life.

“And you update your Instagram too much,” his mother had said. “Sleep more, study more, post less.”

Phichit went back to school with that mantra in mind, but immediately failed to deliver.

At least was finally having a quintessential college experience: seeing a band in a divey bar. Carabosse hadn’t made the big time, but their final concert with Georgi as lead singer was the hottest ticket in town (for the Sacre-Coeur fencing team).

Even Yakov had come out for the occasion. The only glaring absence was Anya, but Phichit was just glad she hadn’t shown up with her new boyfriend.

Metal wasn’t Phichit’s favorite type of music, but one look at Georgi’s over-the-top stage makeup had him wishing his first college concert wasn’t Georgi’s last. The magnetic frontman was almost unrecognizable from the unflappable épée fencer (his meltdown over Anya at Worlds being the one understandable exception). Now Phichit understood why he had never heard Georgi scream before—he saved his pipes for his music. Georgi’s vocal range was ridiculous! A temporary crush bloomed in Phichit’s heart, and Sacre-Coeur’s Instagram followers seemed to agree; his live story was littered with fire and heart emojis. It didn’t matter that Phichit didn’t know any of the songs. There was just something about live music (and Georgi’s swagger) that transcended genre.

The mood was infectious. Yuuri nodded along to the driving beat, Chris blended in perfectly with the metal crowd, and Viktor seemed fascinated by the whole thing. Even Michele Crispino, who only ever seemed comfortable in full fencing gear, was thrash dancing like this was just a typical Wednesday.

Georgi wiped away some tears as he bowed for the encore. “I hate to say goodbye. I owe so much to my bandmates, and to my teammates. We’ve been together through good times and bad, but I don’t want to dwell in the past, because...”

The drummer launched into a thunderous roll, joined by overdriven guitar and pounding bass, building tension until all four band members and half the small crowd screamed, “YOU ONLY LIVE ONCE!”

At least, that was what Phichit thought they said. It was hard to tell, but the song got him jumping.

He was still bouncing after the show, ears ringing as the entire team swarmed Georgi with congratulations and sweaty hugs.

The coaches were the first to leave (except for Viktor—Phichit kept forgetting he was a coach now) and most of the freshmen left soon after the show.

“Do you wanna go home?” Phichit asked Yuuri, even though the post-concert high had him buzzing like he had taken a few shots.

Chris draped himself over Phichit’s shoulders. “The correct answer to his question is _ no,  _ Yuuri. The band is heading to Kittie’s next door and everyone is welcome.”

The fact that Yuuri didn’t immediately refuse was promising, but when Viktor pouted at Yuuri, Phichit knew it was a done deal.

“Okay, I’ll come.”

“Yes!” Phichit broke out of Chris’s grip to hug Yuuri.

Muffled bass thumped at the door to Kittie’s, but it sounded nothing like the hip hop that the club was famous for playing. It wasn’t just the industrial music—the people inside looked different from what Phichit expected, too. The color of the night was black, accented with the occasional pop of neon, and there was some amazing makeup going on. Phichit and his bare face were a little jealous.

His mouth dropped open in realization, and he grabbed Yuuri’s arm. “Oh, it’s goth night!” “Goth night?” Yuuri echoed.

“Wow!” Viktor looked around, excited. “Someone thought I was a goth once, but I was just going to a funeral.”

“Do you feel kind of, you know, unwelcome?” Yuuri asked. The dance floor was packed, but everyone else was clustered in small groups. “It’s probably just me. You guys fit in anywhere.”

“Damn,” said Chris, not at Yuuri. He wandered over to someone tall and covered in mesh and buckles, then glued himself to their side for the rest of the song.

“I don’t know, I’d say we’re plenty welcome,” Phichit said as he surveyed the room. His eyes landed on a familiar figure. “Hey, isn’t that JJ?”

“It is!” Viktor piped up. “I guess he didn’t go home after the show.”

Jean-Jacques Leroy, one of the freshman fencers, was talking to three goths in a corner. Phichit recognized one of them, Mila Babicheva, from his biology class. Sporting thick black eyeliner and a tiny green minidress, she looked even more gorgeous than usual. There was something familiar about her date, just as radiant in deep purple, but Phichit couldn’t put his finger on it.

JJ wasn’t too shabby himself, for a wannabe James Dean. That leather jacket looked way too warm for a club but he didn’t seem to mind as he hung on the third goth’s every word. Phichit didn’t know JJ that well yet, but he was clearly popular.

But there was a fifth member of their unusually attractive little group, sitting in a booth just far enough away from the rest of them to give the illusion of being alone— _ Like an oasis,  _ Phichit thought. The illusion might have worked if Mila’s date hadn’t insisted on dragging the loner into the conversation every few words.

In a room full of tryhards (Phichit included), Lonely Goth was effortless, staring off into space from under a mess of silky black hair—definitely the best looking of the bunch. No makeup or fancy clothes, but with those eyebrows and that jawline, anything more would have been overkill.

_ Oasis  _ didn’t cut it. Phichit had been wandering through the desert all last year and now the waves were crashing over him all at once, carrying him away into the ocean. And just like salt water, taking a drink was a bad idea, but he was so tempted.

It was probably just the concert, the club, the time of night. Or maybe he was even worse off than he realized.

Lonely Goth caught him staring and stared back, unabashed. One little taste couldn’t hurt. But Phichit wasn’t alone. Maybe that intense glare was intended for Yuuri or Viktor.

“Do either of you know that goth in the booth?” Phichit asked discreetly.

Viktor shook his head. Yuuri followed Phichit’s gaze to the corner and made a strangled little sound. Phichit raised an eyebrow, but all Yuuri said was, “I had Physics 101 with him. Something Lee. I can’t remember his first name.”

Phichit didn’t break eye contact and neither did the object of his attraction. Lee was definitely looking at him. “And?”

“I don’t know anything about him, except that he’s—” Yuuri’s mouth snapped shut mid-sentence. “Never mind.”

It begged further questioning, but Phichit was in too deep for that. Last year’s Phichit would have vetted this guy through Yuuri and JJ, maybe gone out in a group setting or at least for coffee first. But this year’s Phichit was too impatient for any of that. He wanted to try something different, and here it was, staring right at him.

“Well, he’s hot and I’m going to go talk to him.” Phichit strode over to where Something Lee sat at the edge of the bench, fully aware of all the eyes on them. “Hey.”

Lee narrowed his eyes ever so slightly, but that was the only response he gave. Phichit couldn’t pretend that didn’t pique his interest even more.

He tried to match Lee’s nonchalance. “You wanna dance?”

“No.”

Lee had a nice voice (based on that tragically small sample) but it was still a no. Phichit was back in the desert, the tide was out, but he forced a smile anyway. “Okay. Have a nice night!”

He started to walk away when Something Lee spoke again, like waves lapping at Phichit’s feet. “Wait.”

“Hmm?” Phichit turned around slowly, with a subtle hair flip just in case.

“You were staring at me.”

“You were staring back,” Phichit pointed out.

Lee was a stone. Phichit hoped for an eyebrow raise or a head tilt, any sign of interest at all, but he got nothing. He was glad he had decided to keep his compliments to himself.

“Why are you here?” Lee almost made it sound like a threat.

Phichit crossed his arms, but even though the rational part of his brain told him to bail, he stayed rooted in place. “Didn’t realize this was a private party.”

No reaction.

“My friends and I came here to dance,” said Phichit. Lee’s face still didn’t change, and Phichit wasn’t sure if that made him more or less attractive. “Why are you here? To sit in the corner and look pretty?”

Lee blinked his gorgeous eyes, then narrowed them a little more. It was the most expressive he had been so far. “I don’t dance.”

“Why not?” Phichit took a little gamble and leaned in. The neckline of Lee’s black shirt revealed the edges of a tattoo and Phichit had to force his eyes back up to his face. “Afraid you’ll have too much fun?”

“I hate dancing.” Now, Lee wore a full on scowl.

Phichit grinned and straightened. He had been wrong—this guy was trying way too hard to look cool. Phichit could work with that.

“Then it appears we’re at an impasse. Goodnight...?” Phichit doubted he would get the name he was angling for, but it was worth a shot.

“Seung-gil.”

Success! He nodded, wading in a little further. “Phichit Chulanont. You should look me up on Instagram.”

“I don’t do social media,” said Seung-gil.

Phichit smirked. That should have been an immediate turn off, but he was committed now. “Let me guess—you don’t have a TV, either?”

“My roommate does.” One corner of Seung-gil’s mouth twitched and Phichit suspected he was making a joke.

“Good for your roommate. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just let you get back to being too cool for this club.” Again, Phichit made as if to leave. They both knew it was a bluff, but Seung-gil gave in even quicker than Phichit thought he would.

“Wait.”

And  _ dive. _

This time, Phichit fluttered his eyelashes when he turned around. “Yes?” 

“Do you want to make out?”

Phichit’s mouth fell open. No one had ever been so blunt with him before, especially not while looking so impassive. But maybe Seung-gil was just as thirsty as he was. Forget diving—Phichit was about to drown.

He tried to play it equally cool, even though he was screaming on the inside. “Wow, bold. And presumptuous.”

“You were checking me out. I was checking you out.” Seung-gil uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, hands resting on his knees. “We’ve humored each other enough.”

More tattoos peeked out from under his sleeves, but it was too dark to see them. What were they? How far up his arms did they go? And just how much of his skin was inked? Visions of tattoos in hidden places filled his head, and he looked away, playing coy. “What makes you think I’m interested in doing anything besides humoring you?”

“I have other tattoos,” promised Seung-gil.

Phichit sucked in a breath. So that bit of staring hadn’t gone unnoticed, either. He ook one step closer. “You going to put your money where your mouth is? Or are you just teasing me?”

Seung-gil didn’t say anything, but the challenge was all in his eyes— _ In his eyebrows, _ thought Phichit. Just this once, he could try something different. Maybe check another box off his “college experience” list.

Phichit invaded the space between Seung-gil’s knees, and Seung-gil righted his deliberate slouch. Eyes locked on each other, Phichit bent down and Seung-gil rose to meet him.

Dissonant bass throbbed in the background, like they were underwater, as Seung-gil’s lips moved beneath his, too slow and gentle for someone who had hit on him so bluntly. That was nice, but wasn’t the itch Phichit was looking to scratch tonight. Maybe Seung-gil was all talk, or maybe he just needed some encouragement. Settling on the latter, Phichit coaxed Seung-gil’s mouth open in a silent plea.

Seung-gil followed in a heartbeat, giving Phichit all the motivation he needed to crawl up into the booth with him. On instinct, Seung-gil made room, draping one of his legs off of the bench while pulling Phichit forward by the hips.

It couldn’t be comfortable to keep kissing at that angle so Phichit pushed Seung-gil down into the booth. Seung-gil thrust his hands back to steady himself, breaking off the kiss with a gasp that Phichit felt rather than heard over the loud music. Their eyes met and there was something there— something Seung-gil was definitely too cool for, and something Phichit wasn’t sure he wanted to pursue.

“You okay?” Phichit teased.

“Shut up.” Seung-gil seized Phichit’s lower lip between his teeth and sucked hard, making no effort to soothe the bite. He wasn’t in the mood to play, but Phichit had been hoping for rough all along. When Phichit tested the waters with a moan, Seung-gil dropped them flat to the bench so fast that Phichit barely managed to slide a hand under his head in time to cushion the fall. Seung-gil let out a grunt, annoyed or horny or both, but if he was trying to punish Phichit by using too much tongue, the joke was on him—he was nowhere near that line.

Rendered useless, Seung-gil’s hands found new purpose under Phichit’s shirt, nails digging into his back. Wild images of undressing Seung-gil right then and there flashed through Phichit’s mind—he had never wanted to see anyone’s tattoos so badly in his life—but short of that, he could live with getting both of his hands into Seung-gil’s hair.

Just when they were starting to rock against each other, something poked Phichit’s leg—a finger? It wasn’t one of Seung-gil’s, since he was definitely working on getting Phichit’s shirt off. The finger jabbed again, harder, and Phichit pulled up with a wet, exaggerated smack. Seung-gil was livid, eyes dark and narrow under those thick, perfect brows, and Phichit was so desperate to get him alone that his body gave a needy shudder.

He tore his gaze away to look at the interloper. It was Mila’s date, eyes wide as dinner plates and fixed on Seung-gil. “You going to introduce us to your friend, Seung-gil?”

“Fuck off,” Seung-gil spat.

“Fuckoff? Is that a nickname or a family name? I’m Sara, by the way.” There was something distinctly unfriendly about Sara’s smile.

“It’s Russian,” Phichit said, thinking of Viktor. He tried to sit up to greet Sara properly, but Seung-gil held him firmly in position. So, with his knees still butting up against Seung-gil’s crotch, Phichit twisted his head up at a terrible angle and freed a hand he knew Sara had no intention of shaking. “Nice to meet you. I’m—”

“Phichit. Mila told me.” Still grinning viciously, Sara said, “You know Seung-gil is drunk, right?”

“What?!” Phichit shot up so hard he banged his shoulder on the table. “Shit, Seung-gil, I’m sorry. I had no clue.” If it was true, then he deserved the shooting pains—he felt like scum. They were just kissing, and Seung-gil didn’t seem drunk, didn’t even taste like alcohol, but that was no excuse. Phichit should have checked.

“I’m not drunk,” Seung-gil deadpanned.

“Fine,” Sara conceded. “Tipsy, then.”

Mila pinched the bridge of her nose. “Sara...”

Sara was undeterred by Mila’s warning tone. “He only acts like this when he’s been drinking, Mila.” 

“He never acts like this,” their other friend put in.

Seung-gil looked ready to commit murder. “I haven’t had any alcohol.”

“Weed?” Sara asked.

Seung-gil shook his head. 

“Prescription meds?” 

“No.”

“Street drugs?”

Seung-gil growled, so feral it startled Phichit.

“Just checking,” said Sara, though she didn’t seem satisfied.

Phichit had barely recovered from the accusation that he had taken advantage of a drunk guy, but now he was shocked and maybe a little insulted. “Is it so hard to believe he wanted to kiss me?”

JJ, Mila, Sara, and their other friend answered in unison. “Yes.”

“Ignore them,” Seung-gil muttered. “It’s what I always do.” He tried to pull Phichit back down but Phichit braced himself on the table.

“Not really in the mood anymore, dude,” he said, his shoulder still stinging.

“Fine.” Seung-gil pushed him away, not rough but decidedly cold. Phichit stood up and pulled his shirt back down. Seung-gil’s neckline had shifted at some point, revealing a bit more of the tattoo on his chest. It looked like the pointed ears of a wolf or a dog.

_ Shame I’ll never get to see it,  _ Phichit thought idly. But if Seung-gil was really into all the things Sara had accused him of, maybe Phichit had dodged a bullet.

“I’m not going to apologize,” Sara said to Mila, who was looking at her expectantly. “I was just looking out for him.”

“Like how your brother was _ just looking out for you _ when he said you couldn’t come here tonight?” Mila challenged.

Sara’s nostrils flared. “This is totally different and you know it.”

“Of course it is.” Under her breath, Mila added, “Unlike your brother, Seung-gil isn’t in love with you.”

Sara gasped and Phichit was even more confused.

Meanwhile, Seung-gil might as well have been sleeping with his eyes open.

“Phichit!” JJ’s voice cut through the tension with all the grace of a blunt knife. “Have you met Isabella Yang?”

Isabella’s smile was more like a grimace, but she said, “Nice to meet you.”

Phichit was about to return the sentiment when Sara exploded. “That was really mean, Mila!”

Mila smoothed a hand over her hair and shook her head. She looked tired. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I think I’m just gonna go.” Glancing over her shoulder, she added, “Good to see you, Phichit.”

Phichit gave her a weak wave and she picked up speed, disappearing into the crowd on the dance floor.

“Mila!” Sara called. “Mila, wait!” She took off running after her.

Phichit glanced at Seung-gil, who was apparently unmoved by the whole scene. It almost seemed like Sara was jealous, but that didn’t make any sense. Sara was with Mila, wasn’t she?

“Can someone please catch me up?” Phichit begged. “I feel like I missed the recap.” Seung-gil didn’t volunteer.

Isabella rolled her eyes. “How much time do you have?”

“All the time in the world for you,” JJ replied, even though it had clearly been a rhetorical question aimed at Phichit. “You explain things so well.” But Isabella just smiled at JJ, apparently too busy making goo-goo eyes with him to explain.

At least someone had made a connection that night. Phichit sighed and checked his phone—only three new notifications on his last Instagram post. Disappointment was the theme of the night. Phichit had touched fire, gotten burned, and still wanted more. But he knew when to cut his losses.

“Well, it’s been real,” he began, “but my friend just texted me.”

Isabella and JJ both gave a half-nod without breaking eye contact and Seung-gil didn’t even acknowledge his departure.  _ Talk about hot and cold, _ Phichit thought with a much less pleasant shiver.

He found Yuuri, who had not actually texted him, drinking water by the bar. Chris had ditched Buckles for Viktor, but there was no intent behind their grinding. Yuuri didn’t look jealous as he watched, but even in the dark room his longing was plain as day.

Unlike Seung-gil, this was in his wheelhouse, and Phichit pushed the mess aside so he could focus on Yuuri. “Chris would let you cut in.”

Yuuri jumped.

“Huh? Oh, you’re back!” He took a long drink of water and shook his head like he had a bad taste in his mouth. “What happened with, um...”

“Seung-gil?” Phichit supplied.

“Right! That was his name.” Yuuri’s eyes drifted back to Viktor. “I didn’t see you guys dancing.”

“I got shot down.” It seemed like Yuuri hadn’t seen them making out, either—that was a relief. Then again, from the way he was mooning over Viktor, he probably wouldn’t have noticed if the club were on fire. Phichit wasn’t ready to unload all of Seung-gil’s baggage, anyway, especially not while Yuuri was hurting. “Why don’t you ask Viktor to dance?”

“Oh, I couldn’t. They haven’t seen each other since Worlds, and Chris is going to be so busy with Pre-Law this year...” Yuuri trailed off into a sigh. “I don’t want to interrupt them.”

Phichit was positive Chris wouldn’t mind, but Yuuri had made up his mind. “Dance with me, then!” Phichit offered.

It was brilliant—Viktor would never be able to resist Yuuri’s dancing. Phichit had done a few fitness classes with Yuuri last year and Yuuri was incredible.

Yuuri turned to Phichit, blinking like he had only just noticed him. “What about that Lee guy?”

Phichit raised an eyebrow. Yuuri was really out of it tonight. Maybe there was something in the air. “I told you. Seung-gil turned me down.”

“Oh, right. I’m sorry.” Yuuri looked down at his shoes and Phichit had to pull out the big guns.

He jutted out his lower lip and blinked away imaginary tears. “All I wanted was one dance. Don’t tell me you’re going to reject me, too?”

“Phichit...” Yuuri groaned. “I don’t really feel like dancing.” But it only took a few more seconds of pouting before Yuuri was leading Phichit to the dance floor. Yuuri couldn’t resist a good beat, and by the next song, he even seemed to be having a little fun.

Yuuri let the music take him over, and Phichit, outmaneuvered, was content to just follow along and marvel. He snuck a glance at Viktor, who was watching Yuuri even more intently. Phichit caught his eye for a moment before Viktor snapped back to Chris, laughing a little too late at a joke.

Hopeless. Utterly hopeless.

A song too tonal and bizarre for dancing broke Yuuri’s trance and he led Phichit over to the now-vacant booths.

Only after they sat down did Phichit realize this was the same booth where he’d had Seung-gil on his back, but Seung-gil and his friends were long gone.

Chris squeezed in at Yuuri’s side shortly after and winked. “You looked good out there, Yuuri. Next time, you better save a couple for Viktor and me.”

Viktor slid in next to Phichit with a smile on his face, but he didn’t acknowledge Chris’s comment. Instead, his smile went wicked and he turned to Phichit. “Returning to the scene of the crime?” 

“Huh?”

“We caught you stealing kisses from that cute little goth snack,” Chris chimed in, matching Viktor’s grin.

“Kisses?!” Yuuri gaped at Phichit. “You told me he turned you down!”

“I said he wouldn’t dance with me,” Phichit said coolly, still bristling at the suggestion that those kisses were anything but mutual. His shoulder gave a throb in protest.

“Looked like you were doing the horizontal mambo to me,” Chris said with a smirk. “But you’re back, so I’m guessing it wasn’t anything special.”

Was it special? It had been hot, frustrating, and most of all, confusing. The only thing Phichit was sure of was that he didn’t feel like explaining. He looked around the club. “Forget about him. Where’s Georgi? I want to take a team selfie.”

Viktor gasped. “But my hair is a mess!”

“Then it’s a good thing you’re not on the team, Coach Viktor,” Chris chided. Phichit’s mouth dropped open. Why would Chris say something so cruel?

Viktor looked heartbroken. “Well, neither is Geor—” A thump on the table cut Viktor off. It was Yuuri’s fist.

“Yes, he is!” Yuuri shouted at Chris, even though the current song was soft. Turning to Viktor, he said, “You’re a very important part of the team.”

Chris just cocked an eyebrow and Viktor’s eyes went as wide as Phichit had ever seen them. Yuuri winced at his own outburst, and he sank back in his seat.

“It was just a joke,” Chris said, smooth as glass. He reached across the table to ruffle Viktor’s hair. “You look amazing. I gave you the sex hair special, after all.”

Viktor laughed and all was forgiven, except Yuuri was suddenly fascinated by the initials and vulgar words carved into the table. Phichit wanted to give him a reassuring foot tap (or maybe a motivating kick) under the table, but there was no way to guarantee he’d find the right foot. “Ah! There’s the man of the hour,” Viktor said, beckoning Georgi over.

Phichit took a few group selfies before Georgi’s bandmates (and, Phichit suspected, groupies) stole him away again. He posted them and got a few likes right away. Team pictures were always a hit, because the Sacre-Coeur fencing team was the hottest fencing team on the planet.

The sweet comments almost made up for some of the night’s frustrations. Seung-gil definitely wouldn’t understand.

“Doesn’t have an Instagram,” Phichit muttered under his breath.

“Did you say something?” asked Yuuri

Phichit looked up from his phone. “Nope. It’s nothing.”

A foot curled around his leg—Chris had no trouble finding footsie targets, or making perfectly innocent sentences like “Making plans with your new friend?” sound dirty.

“Just promoting the team.” Phichit locked his phone and shoved it in his pocket. He stifled a yawn, determined to power through. “So, what’s next, guys? Hash browns? Waffles?”

“Don’t you have an early class tomorrow?” Yuuri wondered.

Phichit shrugged. “It’s not until 10 o’clock.”

Yuuri cringed like that was unthinkable and Phichit snickered. Viktor joined in on the laugh and Yuuri’s eyes snapped open wide. That reminded him—Viktor hadn’t resumed his 5AM training wake up calls yet, but Phichit had a feeling Yuuri hadn’t asked.

“Well,” said Viktor, “I have an 8 o’clock class”—Yuuri gasped in horror—“so I’m afraid I have to say no to hash browns.”

“I’m going to retire for the night myself,” Chris agreed, dashing Phichit’s all-nighter dreams. They said one last goodbye to Georgi, who was still going strong. Phichit probably could have stuck around, but he didn’t want to get between Georgi and his fans.

They all walked together until they got back to campus, then Yuuri and Phichit broke off to head for their dorm. Phichit broke the silence when they were outside their building. “You should ask Viktor to coach you again.”

Yuuri just gave a noncommittal “hmm.”

That night, Phichit was restless. Worries over Yuuri and Viktor tangled with unsated curiosity about Seung-gil. He kept waking up every couple of hours, going for his phone when he didn’t fall back asleep right away. His mom would have told him to turn it off, but Phichit was weak.

Just after 4 o’clock, he woke up to a new notification: @seung-gillee was now following him. The account was brand new—no photos, just a Siberian Husky for a profile picture.  _ Can’t even use your own face?  _ Phichit thought, followed by, Oh my gosh, he probably has a Husky tattooed on his chest!

Phichit followed him back and put his phone down, as if he might fall back asleep. 

It only took a second for him to grab his phone again.

He had a new message already. 

[s]  
_ can’t stop thinking about you _

Phichit was wide awake now. 

[p]  
_ I thought you didn’t do social media. _

[s]  
_ made an exception  
you take too many selfies _

A compliment and an insult? Phichit rolled his eyes. Maybe this wasn’t worth missing sleep for after all.

[p]  
_ So you looked but you didn’t like? Rude :/ _

Seconds later, a few likes popped up like participation trophies. 

[s]  
_ happy? _

[p]  
_ Not really. You don’t have any pictures. How do I know you’re not some scammer? _

Seung-gil’s response took a while, but when it came, Phichit had to put his phone down to calm himself.

He took a deep breath before looking again. A sleepy-eyed Seung-gil stared back at him in a tight shot, his mouth and nose obscured by a thoroughly inked arm. Geometric patterns spanned his skin, colorful and orderly, unlike his unruly hair— _ sex hair special,  _ Phichit thought.

For someone who seemed to hate selfies, Seung-gil was awfully good at taking them. 

[s]  
_ cat got your tongue? _

Damn him. 

[p]  
_ I have a lot of questions. _

Those questions swirled through his mind— _ What are you wearing? Why didn’t you pan out to show off your other tattoos? What are your other tattoos, and where are they? _ —but he didn’t type any of them.

There were questions Seung-gil wouldn’t be able to answer, too— _ Since when am I into tattoos? And since when am I into closed-off jerks? _ Maybe he just needed to get to know Seung-gil better.

[s]  
_ try me _

One more question floated to the front of his mind— _ Why don’t you come over so we can make out some more _ ? Yuuri let out a little snore from the other side of the room and Phichit shook his head. He was a heavy sleeper but Phichit couldn’t do that to him.

Seung-gil had mentioned a roommate, but if he was taking well-lit pictures in bed in the middle of the night, maybe he had his own room. Assuming that picture was even recent.

None of that changed the fact that meeting up was not a good idea. The chances of them just making out were pretty slim, and as hot as Seung-gil was, there were more than a few red flags.

First of all, Seung-gil’s friends didn’t seem to like Phichit (with the exception of JJ, who really didn’t count because he liked everyone). And Sara had probably been joking, but there was a possibility that Seung-gil had some serious substance abuse problems.

On top of that, Seung-gil was kind of mean. Phichit wasn’t sure if this was a plus or a minus. It was hard to be rational when Seung-gil also happened to be a genius with his tongue and Phichit was growing rather desperate for that sort of attention.

It was worth a shot—with caution. One foot out of his comfort zone, and one safe question. 

[p]  
_ Get coffee with me sometime? _

[s]  
_ nah _

“ _ Nah? _ ” Phichit read in an incredulous whisper. Yuuri shifted in his bed on the other side of the room. Guiltily, Phichit locked his phone and rolled over. Annoyed as he was, he didn’t want to wake Yuuri up.

But that  _ nah _ still stung. Phichit might have been horny but he still had his dignity. The only response Seung-gil was going to get tonight was Message seen. Phichit would block him in the morning, but right now, he just needed to sleep.

Hexagons, purple like the bruise that was keeping him from sleeping on his left side, appeared behind his eyelids, pulsing in time with an industrial bassline. It wasn’t a dream because he wasn’t sleeping—just his brain playing dirty tricks on him.

It felt like Phichit had only just closed his eyes when his alarm went off.

Yuuri slept right through it and Phichit wondered if he was right and 10 o’clock was too early for class.  _ This is the real college experience,  _ he thought, dragging himself to the bathroom. When he came back to get dressed and gather his books, Yuuri still didn’t stir. At least one of them had gotten some rest.

Phichit grabbed a banana and the largest coffee the dining hall sold, and both were gone before he reached the Life Sciences building. He picked a seat in the back of the lecture hall (far enough away that the professor might not notice if he drifted off) and pulled out his phone. The team picture from the night before was up to almost 400 likes, but he didn’t have any new messages.

_ That’s right,  _ he remembered. _ I was supposed to block Seung-gil.  _ Phichit navigated to his empty page, one thumb hovering over the Block button. He took a deep breath.

“Hey.”

Startled, Phichit locked his phone and looked up to see Mila. She offered him a grimace that was probably supposed to be a smile and dropped into the seat next to him. 

“Morning, Mila!” he said, summoning cheer from his strategic reserves.

She raised an eyebrow. “Do I want to know why you’re so happy?”

“I’m always happy,” Phichit replied with a shrug. At least he didn’t look as tired as he felt.

“Sure.” Mila didn’t seem convinced. She took a drink from her travel mug and put it down on the table. “Look, I just wanted to apologize for yesterday.”

“What for?” Last night had been a little awkward, but not because of Mila.

Mila ran a hand through her hair. “You know, that whole thing with Sara and Seung-gil that you got caught in the middle of? Though, from that smile I’m guessing you two worked it out?”

“You could say that.” At least it was settled. Phichit really didn’t want to talk about it, but part of him wanted to know about this  _ thing _ Mila mentioned. As cold as Seung-gil had been to him, he had been even colder to Sara.

Mila sighed, looking relieved. “Thank God. Maybe now Sara can finally give up on this ridiculous crush.”

“Crush?” Phichit’s lingering curiosity about the drama last night outweighed his desire to forget about Seung-gil.

“God, you must be into him if you didn’t even notice.” Mila laughed, but Phichit was still confused. “Maybe  _ crush _ isn’t the right word. It’s almost like she thinks she’s his big sister or something, but I don’t think she’d turn him down if he asked, you know?”

Phichit didn’t know, but he nodded just to show that he was listening.

“Except he flat out told her he wasn’t interested. I don’t think he even likes girls. I didn’t think he liked anyone at all—until last night, that is.”

Phichit filed that last bit away for later. He was still stuck on Sara’s crush. “But I thought you and Sara were dating.”

She sighed, eyes downcast. “We were. I mean, we are. Things were so good this summer—Sara was my peer mentor for my honors project.”

_ Oh, that makes more sense,  _ he thought. Sara and Mila seemed to have an awful lot of history for the first week of Mila’s freshman year. If memory served him correctly, freshmen in the honors program could choose to do an interdisciplinary research project with an older student mentor over the summer for credit. Phichit had declined the honors program entirely, much to his parents’ dismay, but Mila and Sara were clearly much better students than he was.

“We got pretty close, but as soon as he came back to school, she got so distant.” “That sounds hard,” Phichit said. Mila nodded.

“It’s like, the things I love about her are the same things that drive me crazy, you know?” She blew some hair out of her face. “This would all make more sense if you knew her brother. Don’t even get me started on him.”

“Right. The brother.” The one who was in love with Sara or something. Phichit really hoped that was a joke.

Mila laughed to herself even though she hadn’t said anything particularly funny. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you all of this. I’m sure you don’t care. I guess I just thought you should know what you were getting into.”

“I do care!” Phichit was used to being seen as a confidant, and he took it as both a high compliment and an important responsibility. And now it was his responsibility to come clean. “But I’m actually not getting into anything. Not with Seung-gil.” Or anyone, but Mila didn’t need to know how dull his love life was. They were talking about her right now, anyway.

“You’re not?” Mila’s face fell and Phichit thought about calling Seung-gil just to cheer her up. “Sorry. I just thought...”

“Oh, I know what you thought,” he said. Seung-gil’s hair was so soft and he had been so eager, for a few minutes at least. He couldn’t hide his disappointment when he added, “It’s just not going to work out.”

Mila shook her head. “You don’t have to explain anything. I didn’t mean to dump all of this on you.”

“It’s okay,” Phichit replied. “It sounds like you needed to let it out.”

Mila smiled weakly. “Yeah.”

“But hey, none of this means we can’t be friends!” Phichit said brightly. Mila perked up a little, so he went on. “I’m a good listener, and we can study together for this class. What do you say?”

“Okay.” Her smile eased. “I could use some of your optimism. And you can talk to me, too. About anything, okay?”

“Thanks,” Phichit replied. “Let’s start with something easy. What’s your major?”

“Pre-Med,” she said. “You?”

“Public Relations.” He anticipated her next question. “Gotta have a lab science credit.”

Mila faked a sigh. “Fine. I’ll help you with your homework, but you better not try to copy my answers. I haven’t taken the Hippocratic Oath yet.”

That glint in her eyes told him she wasn’t joking. She was wearing a jacket today but Phichit hadn’t forgotten how toned her arms were. He had no doubt she could beat him up, but he grinned and said, “Hey, I’m more than just a pretty face, you know. I got a 9 out of 10 on the quiz yesterday.”

They exchanged a laugh and contact information just before the professor started class. Last night might have been a bust, but Phichit’s new friend reminded him that things had a way of working out for the best.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, we have Seungchuchu! And tattooed Seung-gil, aka the entire reason I wrote this fic. I'm so excited to post this one again!
> 
> Update!!! [Phichithamsters drew tattooed Seung-gil!!!](https://twitter.com/phichithamsters/status/1260081602941550592?s=21) Please click the link and take a look! He’s so beautiful and I can’t thank her enough!!
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, commenting, and leaving kudos! It means so much to me.


	7. Red Bull & Hennessy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri attends his second ever fencing team party and clears the air with Viktor, but things between Seung-gil and Phichit get even murkier.

The first week of Yuuri’s junior year was already better than his entire sophomore year. After that mess, Yuuri thought his status as Team Captain might get put up to a vote, but everyone was excited for him to stay on.

Takeshi had taken over Georgi’s Associate Captain spot, and Anya was the consummate professional, so practices were running like clockwork.

Classes were fine, too. Everything was okay. It should have been a relief, but most of the time, Yuuri was just waiting for something to go wrong.

At least Viktor was back. Viktor made everything better, even though they weren’t training one-on-one anymore. Yuuri had a brand new sparring partner, and as much as it pained him to admit, Yuri Plisetsky challenged him more than Phichit ever had.

“Come at me, pig!” Yuri called as Yuuri guarded against his hit.

“Good, Yuuri!” Viktor said from behind Yuuri. Sharper, he added, “Let’s keep it friendly, Yura!”

Yuri Plisetsky lowered his weapon without warning and Yuuri barely stopped his own attack in time. Totally unconcerned, Yuri whipped off his helmet and rounded on Viktor like a wild animal. “What the fuck did you just call me, old man?!”

“Having two Yuris is too confusing.” Viktor pointed at Yuuri and said, “He was here first, so he gets to be Yuuri.”

“That’s bullshit!” Yuri slapped himself on the chest. “I’m higher ranked than he is! Just call him  _ pig. _ Problem solved.”

“You may be higher ranked now, but just because you beat him with headshots at Worlds doesn’t mean you can keep using that strategy,” Viktor said, unimpressed. “Yuuri’s winning. Find a new trick, or better yet, try to read his movements.”

Yuuri didn't say anything, but he felt vindicated.

Or at least he did until Viktor patted his thigh and chirped out, “Watch your back leg, Yuuri! Sloppy!”

Yuuri caught a glimpse of Yuri’s smirk just before it disappeared behind his mask and they began again. The biggest challenge with Yuri was getting along with him, but neither of them could argue with the results of their practice bouts.

And JJ brought a completely different style to the table. Fighting both of them had Yuuri in the best shape of his career.

Still, he longed for more time with Viktor, even though—and he was probably just imagining it—Viktor already seemed to spend more time with him than with anyone else, and Viktor’s hands never lingered on anyone else during practice for quite as long. Not even Chris—Yuuri had timed it, because that was a totally normal thing normal people did.

Maybe Yuuri just needed extra help.

Phichit had a different take. “Obviously, he likes touching you and you like when he touches you, so what are you waiting for? Go touch each other!”

But as Yuuri’s best friend, he had to say things like that.

“Should I just go make out with him?” Yuuri joked. 

“Do it!” Phichit shot back. “I dare you.”

It was probably just Yuuri’s imagination again, but it seemed like Phichit was a little on edge lately. He didn’t sound as playful as he usually did when Yuuri joked with him.

Unless Yuuri had hurt his feelings. Was Phichit embarrassed about what had gone down after Georgi’s concert? Guilt chewed at his stomach, and Yuuri said, “Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought that up.”

“Brought what up?” Phichit’s funk was gone like it had never been there. “Oh, Seung-gil? I’m over that. Besides, we’re talking about you here. You and Viktor have known each other for years.”

“Barely,” Yuuri argued.

“ _ Years, _ Yuuri. You two are giving the entire team blue balls.”

“Phichit!”

But Phichit wasn’t listening. He snapped his fingers like he had a flash of inspiration. “Ruso’s party! That’s your chance.”

“My chance?”

“To kiss Viktor!” Phichit exclaimed. “I guarantee it’ll work!” Under his breath, he added, “God knows one of us should be getting some by now.”

The truth was, Yuuri had almost forgotten about Ruso’s party. With the exception of the Olympic send-off, he had thus far avoided every single fencing team party, but he knew a lot of them happened at Ruso’s house. Ruso was perfectly nice, but Yuuri just didn’t know her that well. She was a graduate student so she lived off campus, and unlike her sister Ketty, she was only a casual fencer.

Yuuri would have kept his no-party streak going if it weren’t for the fact that Phichit was hell bent on doing more “college-y stuff” this year, and in a moment of weakness, Yuuri had promised to do “college-y stuff” with him.

But Yuuri wasn’t about to make any promises about kissing Viktor.

His dread snowballed in the days before Ruso’s party, and by the day of, he was considering faking an illness. He didn’t tell Phichit, but the prospect of seeing Viktor outside of practice was the only reason he didn’t back out. Phichit probably knew that anyway.

“If you’re not going to kiss him, promise me you’ll at least ask him to coach you again,” Phichit urged, taking one last peek in the mirror.

The thought had crossed Yuuri’s mind. It would get them more time together, but he was worried. Could Viktor really coach the entire team  _ and _ Yuuri? He had his own classes, and he probably had a lot of extra work since he had just changed majors.

Before Yuuri could answer, someone tapped out a rhythm on their door. Yuuri opened the door to reveal Chris, dangling a bottle of cognac right out in the open.

“Chris!” Yuuri hissed. He yanked Chris in by the arm and shut the door. “What are you doing? Someone could see you!”

“A secret affair?” Chris clutched Yuuri’s shirt. “I like the sound of that!”

“I meant the Hennessy,” Yuuri muttered. Obviously. How much had he already drank?

Chris pulled away and dusted himself off. “What’s the big deal? You’ll be twenty-one in a couple months.”

Yuuri shook his head. “But I’m not twenty-one yet, and neither are you!”

“Me neither,” Phichit announced. He whipped some canned energy drinks out from behind his back. “But I didn’t need ID to buy these!”

Soon, Chris and Phichit were mixing and rapidly consuming drinks. Yuuri didn’t partake—if he was going to talk to Viktor, he wanted to remember it—but he didn’t try to stop them, either.

“So if you’re not drinking, does that mean you’re volunteering to drive?” Chris purred from his left. Phichit made puppy dog eyes at his right.

“Fine, but keep that”—Yuuri pointed at the alcohol—“closed in the car, okay?”

Chris and Phichit managed to behave themselves for the ride, though they kept bursting into fits of giggles. Yuuri really didn’t want to look back and find out why.

Yuuri had to park several houses away from Ruso’s, and once they got to the door, he could see why. It was packed. Chris’s eyes glinted with excitement and Phichit might as well have been at Disney World, but Yuuri was breaking out in a cold sweat.

“Are these parties always like this?” Yuuri asked.

Chris shook his head. “First one of the year is always the biggest. Lots of catching up to do, you see.”

That made sense. Yuuri got antsy over the summer, too, but parties didn’t exactly ease his anxiety. At least he was there with his best friend. Phichit would keep his spirits up until Viktor got there.

“That son of a bitch!” Phichit hissed.

Or not. Yuuri turned to him in shock. Phichit, who never let competition get to him and

brushed off school stress like it was no big deal, was furious.

“Who’s a son of a bitch?” Chris asked. He and Yuuri followed Phichit’s glare to where Seung-gil Lee was standing in a corner holding a beer, looking bored out of his mind. JJ and Isabella were talking near him, but he wasn’t even feigning interest in their conversation. 

Chris raised his eyebrows and said, “Phichit! That’s no way to speak about your beau. Unless that gets you off, of course.”

Seung-gil caught them staring and knocked back his entire beer in one gulp. Yuuri looked back at Phichit and Chris, the former disgusted and the latter amused.

Phichit shook his head and snagged Chris’s Hennessy—had it been open in Yuuri’s car the whole time!? He took a shot straight from the bottle and said, “He’s not my anything.”

“Noted,” said Chris. He didn’t bother capping the bottle when he took it back.

Phichit’s eyes went wide and Yuuri turned around to see why. He jumped—Seung-gil was right beside them now, looking only mildly annoyed.

“You’re not a fencer,” Phichit accused, eyes narrowing. Seung-gil’s expression didn’t change. “You’re drunk.”

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” Chris cut in, extending a hand. Seung-gil’s eyes flicked over to him, but he didn’t turn his body away from Phichit. “I’m Christophe Giacometti.”

Seung-gil glanced back at Phichit, then turned to face Chris. “Seung-gil Lee.” He took Chris’s other hand—the one that was holding the alcohol—and steered the bottle to his lips, while Chris was still holding it. Phichit and Yuuri both nearly choked but Chris’s eyes lit up.

Seung-gil swallowed the shot and let Chris’s hand (and the bottle) fall. He licked his lips then turned around, leaving them flabbergasted as he stalked away. He hadn’t even acknowledged Yuuri, but Yuuri was okay with that.

“Oh, Phichit,” Chris drawled. “I like him.”

Phichit snorted. “He’s all yours.”

But when he snatched the bottle out of Chris’s hand, he wrapped his lips around the entire mouth of it for a long drink before passing the bottle back to Chris. Yuuri half-suspected it was Phichit’s way of claiming that indirect kiss—and maybe Seung-gil—for himself.

Chris raised an eyebrow, amused. “Is he now?”

Phichit spotted some friends, perking up as he headed their way, and Yuuri slipped off his shoes and moved to shut the front door. But there was a body in the way—tall, lean, and crowned with silver hair. Yuuri gulped and swung the door back open. He had almost slammed the door on Viktor!

“Yuuri!” Viktor exclaimed, unbothered. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

Yuuri scratched the back of his neck, double checking that no one was behind Viktor before he shut the door for real this time. “Well, Phichit and Chris wanted to come, so...”

“Where are they?” Viktor wondered.

Yuuri looked around—he couldn’t see either of them anymore, even though Phichit had been  _ right there. _

“Are you all right?” Viktor asked, bending down to touch Yuuri’s cheek. Yuuri looked up at him,

eyes wide, and all the noise faded away.

“I’m fine,” Yuuri replied, swallowing hard. “Just nervous. I don’t get out that much.”

Viktor grinned and put his arm around Yuuri’s shoulder. “What a coincidence! Neither do I. Let’s stick together.”

“O-okay.” Had Yuuri snuck a drink and forgotten? Because this seemed too good to be true. Viktor slipped his own shoes off and gently steered Yuuri into the thick of the party.

“Have you ever been to Ruso’s house before?” Viktor asked. Yuuri shook his head and Viktor clasped his hands together, leaving Yuuri’s shoulder cold. “Then allow me to give you the tour!”

That hand that had warmed Yuuri’s shoulder now settled on his lower back, sending sparks up and down his spine. “Lead the way,” he said, emboldened.

Viktor’s grin softened and they made their way through the house, weaving among fencers and friends, his hand never leaving Yuuri’s back.

“Ruso started her Master’s when I was a freshman, so we’ve been fencing together for a long time,” Viktor was saying. “She’s not as quick as Ketty, but she’s better at reading her opponents. Sadly, most of us aren’t the total package like you are, Yuuri.”

Yuuri nodded along, until Viktor’s last comment registered. ”What?!”

Viktor beamed down at him. “So modest!” But he didn’t explain what he meant by t _ otal package.  _ “Ruso put competition on the back burner when she started her Ph.D. Understandable, of course, but I do wonder if she misses it.”

_ Do you miss it?  _ Yuuri thought with a familiar twist of guilt.

They had reached the kitchen, half-empty bottles of alcohol and drink mixers scattered about the counter. Snacks and appetizers littered the kitchen table and Yuuri cringed—was he supposed to bring something?

Viktor licked his lips, but he wasn’t looking at the food. “Ah, I wish I could have a drink.”

“Why don’t you?” Yuuri asked, even as his heart sank. He didn’t blame Viktor for being bored with him.

“I can’t drink with my team!” Viktor put a hand to his chest, feigning scandal, but his too-tight smile gave him away. “What kind of coach would that make me?”

“You’re already at this party with your team,” Yuuri pointed out, even though he wasn’t sure if that would make Viktor feel better or worse. “Why not cut loose?”

Viktor’s lips twitched, but he shook his head. “No, I think I’ll keep my wits about me. Besides, I have to drive.”

That was a relief. He and Viktor could keep being sober friends—no, sober teammates. Yuuri turned to the food table and Viktor let out a giggle, voice higher than usual.

“We were both drunk last time we were at a party together, weren’t we, Yuuri?”

So they were going to talk about that. Yuuri’s face grew hot and he was glad he wasn’t looking at Viktor. “Yeah, we were. Or at least I was.” He took a deep breath and let it rip. “So drunk I don’t remember it, actually.”

“I thought so,” Viktor replied evenly. “The thought occurred to me a few months after the party.”

Yuuri frowned in confusion. Viktor had thought about that night months after it had happened? And he still hung around Yuuri?

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri said. Viktor was standing behind him now, not touching him, but close enough that Yuuri could sense him there.

“What for?” Viktor let out a soft laugh. “I forget half the things I say, and I can’t even blame alcohol.”

But Viktor remembered that night, and this was Yuuri’s chance to get some answers. He had to ask before he lost his nerve.

“What did I say to you?” Yuuri asked, too afraid to turn around. “At that party.” 

Viktor didn’t hesitate. “You told me the truth, Yuuri.”

What was that supposed to mean? Had Yuuri drunkenly confessed his crush? The distance, the months of silence—had Viktor been trying to let him down gently?

That didn’t add up. Yuuri didn’t know Viktor as well as he wanted, but he knew Viktor didn’t do things delicately.

They stood together for a long time, surrounded by shouts, laughter, and music. Yuuri pretended like he was trying to pick something to eat, but he honestly had no idea how to respond to Viktor’s confession.

“You know, Yuuri, we never did get dinner.”

Yuuri turned and looked up at Viktor, startled. “Huh?”

“Don’t tell me you forgot that, too?” Viktor feigned disappointment, but the corners of his lips twitched.

Yuuri definitely remembered the wager from their doomed exhibition match. He just hadn’t expected to discuss every single Viktor-related moment of crushing regret in his life on the same night.

He shook his head. “I remember.”

“You were supposed to pick the place,” Viktor went on. “Weren’t those the terms?”

“I didn’t really win, Viktor,” Yuuri reminded him.

“Ah, but that was the beauty of my terms.” Viktor leaned in so close that his hair brushed Yuuri’s forehead.

Proximity alarms went off in Yuuri’s brain.  _ Don’t do something rash just because Viktor is close. _ Surely Viktor didn’t mean  _ go out _ as in  _ go out on a date _ . If Yuuri took it that way, he was just going to embarrass himself. Then again, no matter what Yuuri did, he was bound to embarrass himself.

“Best laid plans, hmm?” Viktor said. He drew back to his full height, waving a hand in the air. “I forget how the rest of the saying goes.”

Viktor smiled, easy and sheepish, but Yuuri couldn’t shake the feeling that by not responding, he had essentially rejected Viktor.

_ No, no, no!  _ screeched Yuuri’s brain.  _ Don’t leave it like this! _

He wanted to ask for a rematch. He wanted to be cool about it, like how Phichit and Chris and

Viktor were cool about things.

But Yuuri could only be himself.

“Viktor, will you be my coach again?”

It came out louder and faster than Yuuri intended, and he cringed. But Viktor didn’t seem to mind. His mouth fell open, blooming into a bright, wide smile.

“Oh, Yuuri, that’s all I ever wanted!”

And before Yuuri could catch his breath, Viktor swept him into his arms—his warm, sweet, utterly terrifying arms. Yuuri froze.

All Viktor ever wanted was to coach him?

That was...

Yuuri squirmed out of Viktor’s embrace.

“I have to pee!” he yelled, because he hadn’t embarrassed himself enough for one night. Somehow, he made his way to the bathroom, locking himself inside to calm his racing heart. He stared at his face in the mirror; he was grinning like a fool.

Viktor was going to be his coach again. Maybe this was just Viktor making the best of a bad situation, but it seemed like he really wanted to do it. Yuuri wasn’t going to screw this up twice.

He still couldn’t believe it: Viktor said coaching Yuuri was all he ever wanted.

Yuuri splashed some water on his face and let it air dry to give his heart a chance to slow down. He hoped Viktor hadn’t left. Maybe they could talk about coaching or just people-watch together. Yuuri took a deep breath and opened the door.

What he saw had him wanting to turn around and shut himself in the bathroom again.

At the end of the hallway were Phichit and Seung-gil, engaged in the filthiest French kiss Yuuri had ever witnessed. It was almost grotesque, all tongues and spit like something out of the comics Yuuri was 99% sure his mother had found in his bedroom back in junior high (but had graciously never mentioned).

Phichit must not have been as  _ over it _ as he claimed. And, from the looks of it, it was mutual.

Yuuri hurried through the hallway and down the stairs, hoping they hadn’t spotted him.

He laughed when he reached the landing. Who was he kidding? They couldn’t see anything but each other.

_ If it had been me and Viktor kissing, Phichit would have taken pictures. _ The thought bubbled up out of nowhere, and the blush that had been looming since he emerged from the bathroom finally showed up. Viktor would never kiss Yuuri like that.

_ Viktor’s a much better kisser,  _ his brain goaded.  _ He’d kiss you softly, gently at first, building up until he finally— _

“Stop it!” he said out loud.

“Stop what, Yuuri?” It was Viktor. Of course it was Viktor. Yuuri whirled around to face him, cheeks on fire now. “Nothing!”

“I’m glad I found you. I might have gotten a little carried away earlier,” said Viktor, as if he was the one who had done something wrong. “But, seeing as we're the only sober people here, we might as well talk shop.”

Yuuri hoped Viktor couldn’t tell he was sweating. Why had Yuuri thought he was ready? “Oh, well, I think we should, um...”

But he couldn’t finish his thought, not when Viktor was getting closer and closer to his face again, except this time, he looked worried.

“Are you all right, Yuuri?” Viktor asked, putting a hand to Yuuri’s forehead. “You’re awfully flushed. Did you take something?”

“No!” Wait—did Viktor think he was popping pills?

Viktor smiled patiently. “It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone. Just try to stay calm. Are you thirsty?”

But now Yuuri had kissing on the brain, and Viktor was so very close. His lips were so elegant. Majestic, really. The longer Yuuri started at them, the more he wanted to know how they felt, what they tasted like...

“Yeah, pretty thirsty,” he whispered.

Viktor nodded, like he had a mission. “Hold on, Yuuri. I’ll get you something to drink—but don’t drink too much!” He looked up, making eye contact with someone behind Yuuri. “Phichit, can you stay with him a minute? I’ll be right back!”

Viktor dashed off to the kitchen and Yuuri took a deep breath. At least he could pretend to be high if any other asinine things came out of his mouth.

“Oh my God, Yuuri, you actually said that.”

Yuuri jumped at Phichit’s voice. How had he already forgotten Phichit was there? Yuuri turned to him—Phichit was a complete wreck.

His hair was a mess and he looked like he had pulled his clothes out from the bottom of the laundry basket. Angry red patches were already blossoming on his neck, and—were those bite marks?

“What’s Viktor so worked up about?” Phichit asked casually. 

“Weren’t you just,” Yuuri pointed to the stairs, “up there with...” 

“With Seung-gil?” Phichit nodded. “What about it?”

“Are you guys dating now?”

Phichit burst into laughter, loud and forced. “Oh, sweet Yuuri. Yuuri, Yuuri, Yuuri. No.” He patted Yuuri’s shoulder, a patronizing smile on his face, and added, “I don’t even like him. He’s just a good kisser.”

“Is he?” Yuuri raised an eyebrow.

Phichit didn’t seem offended by the challenge. “You make such a huge deal out of everything. That’s why you and Viktor are still dancing around each other. Your life would be so much easier if you just grabbed him,” Phichit grabbed his other shoulder, “and planted one on him, like this.”

Phichit pulled Yuuri toward him and pecked him on the lips, as if a demonstration was necessary. It was brief and innocent, but bewildering.

“Um, thanks?” Yuuri said, trying not to think about where Phichit’s mouth had just been. At least his lips were dry.

“Am I interrupting something?” Viktor asked, a playful smile on his face. He held out a bottled sports drink to Yuuri.

“No!” Yuuri shoved Phichit away and grabbed the bottle. He opened it and chugged, resisting the temptation to pour the drink over his head.

“Whoa, don’t drink so fast!” Viktor exclaimed, reaching for the bottle. “You must have taken something strong! Do you remember who gave it to you?”

“Wait—you think Yuuri’s on molly?” Phichit burst out laughing, then cut himself off. He leaned in close to Yuuri again, scrutinizing his face like Viktor had. “Wait, are you? I’m gonna feel like a jerk if you are.”

“Of course I’m not!” Yuuri insisted.

Viktor hovered over him now, too, so close Yuuri could feel his breath on his cheek. “But you’re burning up.”

“I haven’t taken anything!” Yuuri was so loud he even surprised himself, and Phichit and Viktor jumped away. “I was just embarrassed because I saw you”—he jabbed a finger at Phichit, desperate to take the spotlight off himself—“trying to resuscitate Seung-gil.”

Phichit heaved a sigh. “I told you, Yuuri! We only made out because we’re both drunk. It’s not like I’m, you know, dying to see his tattoos or whatever.”

Seung-gil had tattoos? That was news to Yuuri, but at least his deflection tactic had worked.

“Wow, Phichit.” Viktor pulled away from Yuuri and folded his arms across his chest. “Who are you really trying to convince here?”

“Nobody!” Phichit shook his head and patted Viktor’s arm, using the same voice he had used with Yuuri earlier. “Viktor. Viktor, Viktor, Viktor. I know what’s happening here. Just because you and Yuuri are clearly—”

Yuuri yelped, thrusting his hand over Phichit’s mouth like he was trying to score a point. “That’s it, I’m cutting you off!”

Phichit protested by licking Yuuri’s palm.

“Gross!” Yuuri cried, yanking his hand away and wiping it on his pants. “Can you please keep your tongue in your mouth for the rest of the night?”

Sober or sloshed, Phichit‘s shit-eating grin was exactly the same. “No promises.”

“I can give you two some privacy if you’d like,” Viktor offered. Yuuri gulped, because Viktor’s smile wasn’t nearly as easy to interpret as Phichit’s. Did he really think Phichit and Yuuri were flirting?

“He’s just kidding, Yuuri, in case you didn’t get that.” Phichit flipped his bangs out of his eyes. “Funny how I’m the drunk one and I still have to explain these things to you. But I’d be happy to give you two some point—”

“MICKEY!” someone yelled from another room, saving Yuuri from more embarrassment. The three of them followed the shout to the living room to find Michele Crispino and Sara glaring daggers at each other.

Yuuri had never noticed the resemblance before, but this was the first time he had seen the two of them together.

“Oh!” Phichit breathed out, probably coming to the same conclusion as Yuuri. “So that’s her brother!”

“I think they’re twins,” Viktor added.

Sara was flanked by Mila and, of all people, Seung-gil. Mila stood with crossed arms and narrowed eyes, but Seung-gil watched the scene with curiosity. Yuuri had never seen him look anything but mad, sad, or bored before.

“This has gone on for long enough. Any of these drunk men could take advantage of you,” said Michele. He turned to Seung-gil, nostrils flaring. “Especially him.”

Seung-gil rolled his eyes. “I told you, I’m not interested in your sister.”

“Of course you’d say that to my face,” scoffed Michele. “You’re just waiting for me to let my guard down so you can deflower her.”

Maybe Seung-gil was just really drunk but he looked like he might vomit at the mere suggestion.

“Oh my God,” Sara groaned. “Just because you’re a virgin doesn’t mean I am.”

Michele’s face turned beet red but he didn’t look back at her. He grabbed Seung-gil by the collar and yanked him forward. “What the hell did you do to my sister?!”

“Mickey!” Sara shrieked.

“I didn’t do shit,” Seung-gil said. Then, grinning with enough cheek to rival Phichit, he stood on his tiptoes, and pressed his lips to Michele’s.

Phichit and Sara gasped at once, and Viktor let out a laugh before clapping a hand over his mouth to stifle it. Yuuri could only stare, bewildered. If he wasn’t so prone to drunken foolishness himself, he would never have believed this was the same dead-eyed Seung-gil from his Physics class.

It wasn’t a passionate kiss, but it went on a little too long before Michele pushed Seung-gil away.

“W-what’s the meaning of this?”

Seung-gil wiped his mouth on his shirtsleeve. “Seemed like a good way to shut you up.”

“But...but,” Michele spluttered, “how could you? It’s bad enough that you’re tarnishing Sara’s reputation, but to betray her pure trust with her own brother?! You should be ashamed of yourself!”

_ Wow, _ thought Yuuri. _ And I thought I was bad at social cues. _

Sara inserted herself between Seung-gil and her brother. “Go home, Mickey, before you embarrass yourself even more.”

“I’m not going anywhere until someone tells me what’s going on!” Michele cried.

“Fine. I’ll explain it,” said Mila, in a tone that said she was done with this nonsense. She jerked a thumb toward Seung-gil—“He’s gay”—she gestured to Sara—“and she’s with me. If you’ve got a problem with that, you can answer to me. Got it?”

Yuuri sure as hell wouldn’t cross her.

“Mila!” Sara gasped.

“What?” Mila didn’t drop her stance. “It’s not a damn secret!”

“This is juicy,” Viktor whispered to Yuuri behind his hand.

It was complicated for sure, but one glance at Phichit had Yuuri’s heart aching. Seung-gil didn’t seem bothered by any of it, but watching Seung-gil kiss Michele had sobered Phichit right up.

The only people who looked worse off were the Crispino twins.

“ _ You  _ deflowered my sister?” Michele asked Mila weakly. 

Mila snarled at him but Sara spoke first. “Would you stop saying deflowered? You sound so sexist.”

Michele deflated the rest of the way, words coming out more like hiccups now. “But I thought—you didn’t tell me you were with—”

Sara seemed to grow a head taller as Michele shrank. “This is exactly why I didn’t tell you about Mila. I can’t trust you!”

“You...you could have...” But Michele didn’t have any fight left in him.

Sara’s glare softened, but her tone stayed cold. “I’m not that naive little girl who falls for everyone I meet anymore. I don’t need you to defend my honor.”

Michele stared at the floor for a long time, and were it not for the music, the room would have been silent.

“I guess you really don’t need me anymore,” he finally said, not looking up. He trudged out of the room like he was headed for the gallows. Sara stared after him but stayed put. Her eyes darted to Seung-gil, then back to Mila.

“At least he knows now,” Mila said, her voice much softer. But Sara’s eyes were fixed on Seung-gil as he, too, left the room.

Sara turned back to Mila. “I hope he’ll be okay.”

Yuuri thought Sara was talking about her brother, but Mila’s eyebrows shot up and Yuuri wasn’t sure anymore.

“You’re worried about _ him? _ ” Mila demanded. “What about your brother? He’s heartbroken.” Sara’s eyes flashed. “He had it coming. But Seung-gil didn’t do anything to deserve—”

“Jesus, Sara, do you even hear yourself?” Mila rubbed at her own forehead, hard. “You’re just as clueless as Mickey!”

As Sara and Mila argued, Yuuri turned to look at Phichit, but he had disappeared, too.

“That was Phichit’s boyfriend, wasn’t it?” Viktor asked, looking confused. “The drunk one, not the twin.”

“Something like that,” said Yuuri, not bothering to correct him on semantics. “We better find Phichit.”

Only after the words left his mouth did Yuuri realize he had said  _ we,  _ but Viktor fell into step with him without missing a beat. Yuuri was too worried about Phichit to beat himself up for being too friendly with Viktor, and they searched the house together. They finally had a chance to talk to Ketty and Ruso, but only long enough to ask where Phichit had gone.

“I think he’s with Yuuko,” said Ketty.

Ruso pouted. “Don’t tell me you’re all leaving! We’re about to play a game.”

“Sorry,” said Viktor, stepping closer to Yuuri. “Next time.”

But before Yuuri could get too excited about Viktor choosing him over old friends and games, Yuuko’s familiar laugh hit his ears. He followed the sound to the rec room, Viktor at his heels.

There was Phichit, ashen-faced. Next to him, Yuuko was pointing at the back of Seung-gil’s head, clearly kissing someone else. Yuuri took a step closer as Seung-gil pulled back to reveal... 

“Takeshi?!” Yuuri coughed out.

Takeshi tilted his head, baffled but not upset. “Hey man,” he said to Seung-gil, putting a hand between them. “I’m flattered, but I have a girlfriend.”

“Don’t let me stop you!” Yuuko giggled. She was covering her face with her hands, and Yuuri remembered how easily she used to get nosebleeds. “I had a dream like this once, except it was Yuuri.”

Yuuri wasn’t sure how to respond but Phichit cried out first, thrusting a finger at Seung-gil. “Homewrecker!”

“Whoa!” Takeshi turned to Phichit. “Calm down, Phichit, it’s no big deal.” He nodded toward Yuuko, who was still laughing off a minor nosebleed. “See? She’s not even mad.”

“That’s not the point!” Phichit protested, never taking his eyes off Seung-gil.

“Then why the fuck do you care?” Seung-gil muttered, sounding much more like how Yuuri remembered him. “You don’t even like me.”

_ Oh.  _ Yuuri recognized his words.  _ He heard that. _

But Phichit either didn’t notice or didn’t care. He charged at Seung-gil, not with heat but

hostility, stopping when they were nose to nose.

“I care because they’re my friends.” There was an implied _ and you aren’t _ in Phichit’s scathing tone. “Kiss whoever you want, but leave my friends alone.”

Yuuri and Viktor exchanged nervous glances. Yuuri had never seen Phichit like this, and it seemed like more than a little passing jealousy.

“Some friends.” Seung-gil turned to sneer in Yuuri’s direction.

Yuuri flinched. Why was Seung-gil mad at him? He hadn’t even done anything.

Phichit just kept staring Seung-gil down.

“Fine,” Seung-gil finally said. He turned away and headed for the door without a second look. “Where the hell did JJ go?”

“Oh, no you don’t.” Sara stepped into the doorway, physically blocking Seung-gil from going any further.

He glowered at her. “Get out of my way.”

“No. It’s time for you to go home, Seung-gil,” said Sara, keeping her voice low and soft, like she was talking to a wild animal.

“I can take care of myself.” Seung-gil seemed to like to turn people’s words against them, and Sara’s words sounded even colder coming out of Seung-gil’s mouth. He tried to side-step her but she was faster.

“Can you? Because it seems like you’re making out with every guy you see.”

“Hey!” Phichit protested.

“Shut up,” Seung-gil and Sara snapped in unison. Phichit’s frown deepened.

“You’re wasted,” Sara continued, turning back to Seung-gil. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Seung-gil muttered.

Sara’s eyes rounded with hurt. Quieter, she said, “You know, sometimes you make it really hard to be your friend.”

In that moment, she looked so much like her brother, Yuuri couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed it before.

Seung-gil looked away. “That’s the idea.”

The hurt turned to shock, but instead of getting angry, she just took a deep breath and put on a saccharine smile. “Well, tough, because you’re stuck with me. Let’s go.”

Seung-gil narrowed his eyes but followed without protest as she led him out of the room. He didn’t spare a glance at Phichit, but Yuuri did.

For the first time since they met, Yuuri couldn’t get a read on his best friend. Phichit ran his tongue over his teeth behind closed lips.

“I’ve gotta find Mila,” Phichit said. He took off for the living room before Yuuri could say anything.

“Off we go.” Viktor grabbed Yuuri’s arm and Yuuri wished he was in the mood to really enjoy it. They found Phichit and Mila quickly, talking quietly by the door. “Thank goodness they’re not kissing,” Viktor said under his breath.

It was funny, but Yuuri didn’t feel like laughing.

“She’s right. I know she’s right,” Mila was saying. “He needs her more right now.”

“But it’s okay to be upset,” Phichit said, putting a hand on her shoulder.

Phichit truly was the best friend in the world. There he was, drunk and hurting, but all he wanted was to make sure Mila was okay.

“If it helps,” he went on, “I think she really does only see him as a friend.”

Mila nodded. “But what about you? Are you okay?”

Phichit smiled automatically, no teeth. “I told you, Mila. I’m good. I’m always good.” 

“No, you’re always smiling.” Mila nudged his ribs with her elbow. “There’s a difference.”

Yuuri knew that. They were best friends, after all. Phichit was always put together because he felt like he had to be—even when he was falling apart on the inside. But Yuuri had never really thought about it so simply.

Phichit had spent so much of his freshman year bolstering Yuuri’s confidence. He had taken on Yuuri’s stress on top of his own and never once complained. And what had Yuuri done for him? Phichit would have gotten better at fencing with or without his help.

No wonder Phichit was frustrated. Mila had only known Phichit for a few weeks and she was already a better friend than Yuuri was. Yuuri vowed to do better, starting now.

“Let’s go home,” he said to Phichit, even though part of him wanted to stay with Viktor. Phichit came first. Yuuri smiled at Mila and added, “I can give you a ride, too.”

“Thanks,” said Mila.

Viktor squeezed Yuuri’s shoulder and said, “Are you sure no one slipped you a disco biscuit?”

“I’m not on drugs, Viktor,” Yuuri insisted. He wasn’t even sure what a disco biscuit was. “Have you seen Chris? He rode with us.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get him home.” Viktor’s eyes got a little brighter, and he said, “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Yuuri.”

“Bright and early,” Yuuri replied, waving goodbye. At least one good thing had happened tonight.

Once they were outside, Phichit turned to him, eyes wide with excitement like there was nothing wrong. “Are you training together tomorrow? I’m so proud of you!”

“Yeah, but what about—”

“It’s nothing.” Phichit climbed into the backseat next to Mila. “So, who asked who?”

He was just going to keep asking so Yuuri relayed the tale as Phichit oohed and aahed. Phichit kept the conversation going for the entire ride, bouncing from talking about Yuuri to talking about Mila while conveniently avoiding anything about himself. Yuuri liked Mila, and he learned she shared his love of strategy games and ballet, but that wasn’t what he wanted to talk about. Maybe Phichit just wasn’t comfortable talking about Seung-gil in front of her.

_ Or maybe he thinks I don’t care, _ Yuuri thought.

Phichit leaned over to hug Mila once they reached her dorm. “Trust me, it’ll work out with Sara,” he said. “Text me, okay?”

Even though Mila was gone, Yuuri left the car in park. He turned around and asked again, “Seriously, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” said Phichit with a quick nod. “Is Viktor coming tomorrow at five? Because we should really—”

“Phichit.” It came out a little sterner than Yuuri intended. “We can talk about you, too, you know.”

Phichit frowned, like this was a strange concept, but he gave in with a sigh. “It’s fine. Really, it is. It’s just been a while since I liked a guy more than he likes me. I’ll get over it.”

From where Yuuri had been standing, it seemed like Seung-gil liked Phichit plenty. His chaste little pecks with Michele and Takeshi were nothing like the kiss he and Phichit had shared. But that didn’t give him the right to treat Phichit like dirt. But maybe that was just how Seung-gil was.

“Hey,” Yuuri said, “remember how I said I had Physics with Seung-gil last year?”

“Yeah.” Phichit let out a bitter laugh. “Don’t tell me—he kissed you, too?”

“No. But once, he was a little late for a test and the professor came down really hard on him. Wouldn’t let him take it or make it up.”

“That’s rough,” said Phichit.

Yuuri nodded. He felt a little guilty for spilling other people’s secrets, but Phichit deserved to know. Yuuri explained the rest of the story, finishing with, “I was just trying to sympathize and he told me to fuck off.”

Phichit snorted. “Yeah, that sounds like him.”

“So...” Yuuri wasn’t sure how to put it delicately. “I get that he was upset, and I don’t really know him, but I just don’t think he’s the nicest guy.”

Phichit chewed on it for a minute, then said, “That’s fair.”

He didn’t sound convinced, and Yuuri added, “I know it’s not my place, but you deserve someone who treats you well.”

“What makes you think it’s not your place?” Phichit wondered aloud.

Yuuri blinked in surprise. “Well, you’re an adult and you can see whoever you want. Plus, I’m not exactly a relationship expert.”

“You’re doing better than I am,” Phichit chuckled. “You have a date with Viktor in the morning!”  _ Crap.  _ Phichit had done it again! “We’re supposed to be talking about you.”

“Sorry, force of habit.” Phichit looked out the window. “But thanks. After tonight, I’m done with Seung-gil. I promise.”

When they were on the road, Phichit broke the silence. “So, can I give you some advice, too?”

“Of course,” said Yuuri. He braced himself, elbows locked behind the wheel and eyes on the road.

“Tell Viktor how you feel. He likes you  _ so _ much,” said Phichit. Yuuri was driving, so he couldn’t cover Phichit’s mouth to stop him from going on. “I know you’re afraid of getting hurt, but if he doesn’t know how you feel, there’s a good chance he’s hurting, too.”

And Phichit would know, wouldn’t be? Maybe, just this once, Yuuri could let himself believe that Phichit wasn’t just saying what he wanted to hear. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is a little different from the last time I posted this story! For one thing, it's about 500 words shorter! But the ending is from an earlier version of the story, and I always liked it a bit better than what I went with, so here we are.
> 
> In case you haven't seen it, I'm gonna plug it again because I haven't stopped thinking about it: [Phichithamsters drew tattooed Seung-gil!!!](https://twitter.com/phichithamsters/status/1260081602941550592?s=21) I'm eternally grateful ❤❤❤
> 
> If you haven't heard Red Bull & Hennessy by Jenny Lewis, I highly recommend it! 
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading, and for the kudos and comments. It means so much to me that anyone reads my writing at all, let alone enjoys it. ❤


	8. Next Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Phichit loses his cool, he's just as surprised as everyone else.

Phichit hated disappointing Yuuri, but getting over Seung-gil was easier said than done. Even before Phichit saw him at Ruso’s party, he’d had Seung-gil on the brain for weeks.

It didn’t help that Phichit still hadn’t blocked him on Instagram, and every time that little Husky icon popped up in his likes, it dug the hole a little deeper. As if that wasn’t bad enough, Seung-gil would leave little comments on his pictures— _ Cute _ or  _ Nice _ —and Phichit was obligated to reply with  _ Thanks _ or at least a hamster emoji. That was just Instagram etiquette.

His traitorous heart didn’t have to speed up whenever they interacted online, but he was that hard up.

The party was supposed to be his chance to forget, have fun with his friends, maybe even hook up with someone else to purge his system, but Seung-gil’s mere presence had ruined everything.

Like men possessed, they had cornered each other as quickly as possible. Phichit could admit he was a little infatuated, but it was just a game for Seung-gil. A distraction, the least boring thing to do at a tedious party, and all he had done was tease Phichit.

“You like Christophe,” Seung-gil had said, his tone derisive.

Phichit snorted a laugh. “We’re just friends.”

Seung-gil just stood there, perhaps thinking up his next comeback, and Phichit studied him. Did he own any clothes that weren’t black? And why did he always keep his tattoos covered? What was the point of having them if not to show them off?

Finally, Seung-gil responded, “He seems like a dick.”

“Takes one to know one,” Phichit shot back, like he was in kindergarten.

“Is that your type?”

That had thrown Phichit for a loop, at least until he realized it was just posturing. There was no way Seung-gil cared what his type was. “I don’t date jerks.”

“But you do kiss them,” Seung-gil pointed out. He took a step closer, and Phichit willingly took the bait.

“Jerk,” he whispered before pressing a kiss to Seung-gil’s lips. It was quick, and it should have stopped there. At least Phichit could say he tried to leave. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to find my friends.”

But Seung-gil followed him into the hall. “I didn’t hear your phone go off.”

“I kind of abandoned Yuuri,” Phichit said, and mentally, he added  _ for you _ . That’s what he got for thinking with his dick.

“You’re not his keeper,” Seung-gil pointed out, as if it was some ingenious revelation.

“I’m his friend. Friends hang out at parties.”

“Do you really think he came here to hang out with you?”

Phichit bristled at the question, and at Seung-gil’s tone. He clearly didn’t understand friendship at all.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you.” And with that, Phichit tried to leave, but what Seung-gil said next stopped him dead in his tracks.

“He only came to this party to spend time with Viktor Nikiforov.”

Okay, maybe Seung-gil did get it after all, but Phichit should have kept on walking.

“I know that. I want him to spend time with Viktor!” And it was up to Phichit to make sure Yuuri didn’t run off and miss his chance. Seung-gil would never understand that.

“Is that all you want?” Seung-gil touched his arm, lingering there, tempting Phichit to give in to the attraction between them (even though they were doomed to crash and burn).

Seung-gil had made it clear he wasn’t interested in more than a quick hatefuck, because dating was for suckers who couldn’t leave well enough alone. Suckers like Phichit. Playing along with Seung-gil was only going to get him hurt, but Phichit had leaned in close and said, “I want to find Chris, because unlike some people, he knows how to dance.”

Seung-gil narrowed his eyes—why did that look hit Phichit so hard every time? “Don’t dance with Chris,” he said, grabbing Phichit’s hand. It almost sounded like a plea, but Seung-gil didn’t beg.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Phichit said. Then, he brushed Seung-gil’s fringe out of his eyes and dug his own grave. “But you’re welcome to make a better offer.”

It was always going to end like it had, with Seung-gil and Phichit tonguing each other down in the hallway. In the days since, Phichit had spent an unhealthy amount of time thinking about that kiss—the drag of Seung-gil’s mouth against his own, the synchronous grind of their hips, the promise of what would surely transpire if they ever got the chance.

But invariably, he’d remember how the kiss ended. How Yuuri’s shout had carried up the stairs. How hard it had been to tear himself away. How Seung-gil had looked at him when they’d separated, like maybe it wasn’t just a drunken makeout.

But Yuuri was more important than Phichit’s sex drive. Always. “I have to go,” Phichit had said.

All traces of passion had drained from Seung-gil’s face, leaving something close to contempt. “Whatever.”

The night had only gotten worse from there. Phichit’s brain skipped right over the bright spot of Viktor and Yuuri, coach and student, reunited, getting stuck on Seung-gil’s kissing spree instead.

Seung-gil had smiled when he had kissed Michele, even laughed. It would have been adorable if Phichit hadn’t been so jealous. Yuuko and Takeshi were just innocent bystanders, and Phichit couldn’t blame them for any of the mess. He could blame Chris a little for using tongue. He could definitely blame Seung-gil for targeting his friends. But most of the blame fell on Phichit himself, for thinking that Seung-gil was interested in anything but toying with him. It was over before it had even started.

Yuuri was right. Seung-gil wasn’t even worth a one night stand, and Phichit couldn’t risk getting any more attached than he already was.

Was that his problem? Had he gotten attached too quickly? Normally, Phichit was the one keeping guys at arm’s length, choosing boyfriends not just because he liked them but because they looked good in pictures. So he could do all the cute things that came with having a relationship. None of his boyfriends had ever gotten in the way of friends, school, or fencing before because he just hadn’t been that invested.

Then along came Seung-gil with his mystery tattoos (which didn’t mesh with Phichit’s brand at all), kissing other guys and rejecting the cute stuff. Maybe it was penance for all of Phichit’s empty relationships.

It didn’t matter. Phichit would channel all of his pent up energy into making sure Viktor and Yuuri got together, and making sure Sara and Mila stayed together. He could live vicariously through them until he felt the urge to try again, with someone more receptive than Seung-gil. There was that hot guy from International Marketing, Leo’s friend Otabek, or any number of attractive students on campus. He just needed time.

Friends, fencing, social media, school. No dating. Just like last year.

The next morning before class, as much as it pained him to voluntarily decrease his follower count, he finally blocked Seung-gil.

Blocking the crush itself was a different story, because whether it was ducking into buildings to avoid him on campus or hearing his name in passing, Seung-gil just kept coming up.

“I did it,” Mila announced as she handed Phichit his bubble tea. “I gave Sara the come to Jesus talk about Seung-gil.”

Phichit’s lips twitched before he reversed his scowl, but the damage had been done. His taro boba, once his favorite study treat, tasted like regret.

“Great!” He tried to hide behind the giant straw. “How did she take it?”

“Ugh,” she began, settling in the chair next to him. “Classic Crispino denial. She told me that Seung-gil was a lost little puppy on the inside and that I just didn’t understand him.”

Phichit made a noise to show he was listening, but for once, he just wanted to study.

“I told her Seung-gil was never going to learn to clean up his own messes if she didn’t give him a chance,” Mila went on. “You can guess how much she liked that.”

“Not at all?” Phichit supplied automatically.

Mila nodded. “But I think I finally got through to her when I asked her when she was planning on weaning him.”

Phichit almost spit out all of the tapioca bubbles in his mouth. “What?!”

“If they could just be normal friends, everything would be fine, but she thinks she’s his mom.” Mila sipped her tea and looked up at the ceiling. “God, I’m so glad you didn’t end up dating him. I see way too much of him as it is.”

“Dodged a bullet,” Phichit muttered, opening his notebook. “I’m glad Sara finally listened to reason.”

“Me too. How are you?”

“Good enough to turn sunshine into energy!” he replied quickly, tapping his notebook. Mila cocked an eyebrow and he said, “Photosynthesis.”

“I know,” Mila said slowly. “I just didn’t expect you to be excited about it.”

But she didn’t pry for the rest of their study session. Maybe he had her fooled, but he couldn’t fool himself. Seung-gil was seeping into every facet of his life, including fencing. Phichit pictured his face under the mask of every opponent he faced, and sparring with Chris was getting just plain ugly.

“Let it go,” Chris grunted after Phichit landed yet another hit with way too much force.

“I said I’m not mad!” Phichit shot back, returning to his stance.

Chris mirrored him, and even though Phichit couldn’t see his face, he knew Chris was smirking. “If you had just told me you liked him, I would have kept my hands to myself.”

His hands weren’t the problem. “I don’t like him!” Phichit cried, charging at Chris. Maybe if he kept saying it, he’d start to believe himself.

Chris ducked out after another hit. “You’re in denial, little one.”

“Shut up!” Phichit really hoped that nickname wouldn’t stick.

“Phichit!” Celestino called. “Tone it down a notch! What did Chris do to you?”

Chris took off his mask and smirked at Phichit. “Yes, Phichit. Enlighten us.”

But that was just it; Chris hadn’t done anything. Phichit was mad at himself, and it wasn’t fair to take it out on anyone else. He took off his mask. “I’m gonna take five,” he said, shaking out his hair.

He stripped back down to his regular clothes and put all his gear in the corner. Taking pictures for the team’s Instagram would be a good distraction, especially since Viktor and Yuuri were working so closely together tonight, so he grabbed his phone.

As far as he knew, Yuuri hadn’t confessed his crush to Viktor yet, but that didn’t stop Viktor from composing sonnets for Yuuri after a good touch.

“Beautiful, Yuuri! I never saw it coming! Now, entice me with your cunning blade once more.” “Okay, Viktor.” Yuuri was definitely blushing under his helmet.

Phichit captured the exchange for a story. It got a few views right away, and Phichit couldn’t help but wonder if Seung-gil would watch it. He had followed the team account a couple days after following Phichit.

After a quick peek to make sure no one was watching, Phichit searched for Seung-gil. He only wanted to see if Seung-gil had unfollowed this account after Phichit blocked him, but he almost dropped his phone when Seung-gil’s profile loaded.

Seung-gil had posted?! Phichit’s mouth went dry. It was a picture of his hip—just a glimpse of skin between his shirt hem and the waist of his pants, pulled up and down respectively.

“Holy shit,” Phichit whispered. He glanced up but no one seemed to notice, so he tapped the photo to get a closer look. Was this Seung-gil’s newest tattoo? Phichit squinted, almost nose to screen, but it was no use. He couldn’t tell what it was. Black lines or symbols or something else Phichit would never see in person.

Whatever it was, it looked pretty well healed, and Phichit wondered if he had brushed against it when they made out. He didn’t remember Seung-gil hissing in pain, although something Chris had said echoed in his mind— _ unless he’s into that.  _ Phichit didn’t want to know. Seung-gil could do whatever he wanted with whoever he wanted.

Like whoever had taken this picture.

The picture had a couple of likes. Seung-gil only had a few followers (one less as of this morning) but all of Seung-gil’s attractive gothic friends were on the list, along with—Phichit gasped.  _ Chris _ had liked it?! Phichit glared up at the spot where Chris had been, but he was gone, sparring with Leo now.

Phichit took a deep breath. It wasn’t a big deal. They were allowed to follow and kiss each other, even have a threeway with Chris’s boyfriend if they wanted. It didn’t matter to Phichit.

Still...

How dare Seung-gil wait until Phichit had blocked him to finally post! It was an insult. Would it be too petty to block Seung-gil from following the fencing club, too?

Yes, Phichit decided, the club’s numbers came before his pride. He just needed to get off of Seung-gil’s profile. He tapped for the back button, hard, and—Shit! It registered as a double tap!

Phichit, the master of Instagram, had accidentally liked Seung-gil’s picture. His brain finally kicked in and he undid his mistake, but it was probably too late. 

Maybe Seung-gil didn’t know Phichit ran the account. Then again, Phichit cross-posted team posts to his personal account all the time, and Seung-gil was smart. He could figure it out.

Or maybe he was too cool for needy stuff like notifications. Of course, before today, he had been too cool to post pictures at all. 

“Hey, you ready?”

Guang Hong’s voice startled Phichit out of his spiral. Perfect! He was the only member of the team with enough energy to keep up with Phichit.

“Ready!” Phichit replied, putting his phone down and re-dressing quickly.

“You’re not mad at me, too, are you?” Guang Hong was smiling, but there was truth beneath his giggle and Phichit felt guilty.

“No! And I’m not mad at Chris either,” Phichit explained. “I’m just stressed."

Guang Hong nodded sympathetically. “That’s rough. It’s so early in the semester, too.”

School stress was close enough. Phichit lost just as much sleep to homework as he did to hormones. “I’m calm. Let’s go.”

He was not calm.

He didn’t take out his frustration on Guang Hong, but keeping himself in check meant missing shots and leaving himself open. Had they been keeping score, Phichit would have lost.

Not even Leo could lend him some cool when they sparred the week after. It didn’t bode well for competition, but they were already over a month into the semester and Phichit was out of time.

Come the second week of October, Phichit sat in the stands to watch the sabre bouts of the first tournament of the season. He tried doing the deep breathing exercises that he sometimes talked Yuuri through, but he couldn’t focus or sit still. A couple hours probably wasn’t enough time to learn how to meditate, anyway.

The team had home field advantage, but even that wasn’t enough to stop Phichit’s legs from bouncing as he waited. Pre-match nerves had never bothered him before. Was this a taste of what Yuuri dealt with all the time?

Yuuri, on the other hand, was as calm as Phichit had ever seen him (even though Phichit had hardly seen him at all the past couple weeks). Yuuri and Viktor worked so closely together that Phichit figured something must have happened between them. Even if they weren’t swapping saliva just yet, Phichit couldn't wait to see Yuuri in action. He just had to sit through a bunch of other matches first. Phichit sighed. He used to be patient.

He scrolled through recent comments on the team account—big events always gave them a bump, and his phone vibrated every few minutes with new follower notifications. The home match had attracted a lot of student attention to the team and the account. It was always gratifying when his classmates noticed that Sacre-Coeur athletics were more than just football.

Since the bouts hadn’t resumed yet, Phichit took a quick video to capture the energy in the stands. He steadied himself to get a clean sweep of the room, but then he spotted an all-too-familiar head at the base of the stands.

“Motherfucker,” he spat, knowing he would have to scrap the video.

What the hell was Seung-gil doing here? Was he determined to ruin everything Phichit loved?

He had mixed up his usual all-black attire with a dull green flannel over a black t-shirt, but that was the same pair of ridiculously tight pants he had worn at the club and the party. Phichit definitely wasn’t in the right frame of mind for fencing if Seung-gil’s outfit was enough to make him see red.

Phichit lowered his phone, his shaking legs finally going still when their eyes met. There was something sticking out of Seung-gil’s mouth—did he have some kind of oral fixation? Even Seung-gil wasn't clueless enough to smoke indoors. Was it a piece of straw, like some cowboy in a cartoon?

Never looking away, Seung-gil came closer until he was standing right in front of Phichit, sucking on a lollipop, of all things. Phichit loved candy, but even he hadn’t had a sucker since the eighth grade.

“Why are you here?” Phichit tried to keep his voice as level as possible. 

Seung-gil shrugged. “I came to see JJ.”

“Sure you did. Because you’re such a supportive friend who comes to all of his competitions.”

Seung-gil’s face was blank, as usual, but the slurping sound he made around that lollipop had to be deliberate. Phichit wanted to snatch it from him, but Seung-gil beat him to it, pulling it out of his mouth and breaking eye contact to examine it. It looked like one of the ones with gum inside. He was probably going to toss the stick on the ground when he was done.

“Maybe I’ve been coming all along and you just never noticed.”

Phichit doubted that. Seung-gil had a permanent little storm cloud above his head, and worse, since they met, Phichit had been cursed with the uncanny ability to spot him in crowds. 

But Phichit was an athlete, and his discipline was so good that it was paying for his college education. He could beat this.

Until Seung-gil said, “Or maybe I just came to see you in white knickers.”

And with that, he popped his sucker back in his mouth and walked away. Phichit turned around so he wouldn't be tempted to watch Seung-gil leave. He had enough going on without letting Seung-gil get any deeper in his head (or anywhere else).

Phichit forgot all about him when Yuuri beat Yuri to finish in first place. His heart was so full it could burst, and then, before Phichit’s bulging eyes, Viktor wrapped Yuuri in a tight embrace and kissed him full on the lips.

Phichit almost fainted on the spot. He was witnessing history—Viktor and Yuuri’s first kiss was a thing of beauty, and right in front of everyone! Phichit was so proud. Automatically, he grabbed his phone and snapped picture after picture, and when they broke apart, he rushed the happy couple. “Congratulations, you finally kissed! I’m so happy for you two!”

“Finally?” Viktor looked confused. “Our first kiss was weeks ago!”

Weeks ago? That was...it was good, but why hadn’t Yuuri told Phichit?

“Phichit,” Yuuri said, eyebrows knitting like they did when he was worried, “I didn’t—”

“Phichit.” Celestino cut Yuuri off and put his hand on Phichit’s shoulder. “You’re up.” 

Celestino’s smile was encouraging, but Phichit felt even worse, tension rising with every piece of protective gear he donned. He won his first few matches, but it wasn’t clean or pretty, and worst of all, he wasn’t having fun. He was fighting angry. Why didn’t Yuuri tell him about Viktor? Why was Chris such a flirt? Why was Seung-gil such an asshole? 

Only his first red card of the season (and his first ever red card for brutality) got him in check. One more call and he’d be eliminated. 

But forcing himself to calm down meant he lost the rest of his bouts. He still managed to come in eighth place overall, but he should have done better.

Nothing felt right. Fencing had always taken the edge off, no matter what he was going through, but even after the tournament ended, he was still wound tight.

“Where is all of this aggression coming from?” Celestino wondered. “I thought you were working through it.”

“Just stuck in my head, I guess,” Phichit replied. “I’ll get it together for the team even tomorrow.” Celestino was content to leave it at that, but Yuuri wasn’t. Phichit steeled himself as Yuuri approached, looking apprehensive.

“Hey, um…” Yuuri trailed off. “Do you want to talk?”

Yes. Phichit should have said yes. But he didn’t really want to, and when Viktor walked up and threw his arm around Yuuri’s shoulder like he’d probably been doing for weeks, Phichit shook his head. Even though he barely recognized himself today, he repeated the excuse he gave Celestino, adding, “I’ll cool down before tomorrow, don’t worry.”

“Whatever you need to do to get it out of your system, I suggest you do it,” said Viktor, somehow stern and cheerful at the same time. “It’s not good to keep things bottled up.”

Phichit had nothing to lose, so he took Viktor’s words to heart.

Which meant it was all Viktor’s fault when he ended up in an empty practice room with Seung-gil’s hand down his sweatpants.

Well, it wasn’t all Viktor’s fault. They wouldn’t be here if Seung-gil hadn’t stuck around for the entire meet. He wasn’t just there to see JJ—he had stayed all the way until the bitter end. But Phichit couldn’t ignore the way his stomach flipped when their eyes had met once more from across the gym.

“You seem tense,” Seung-gil had said when they were within striking distance. No congratulations, just a smirk and a snarky comment. What choice did Phichit have but to wipe that smug look off his face?

It wasn’t going exactly how he planned, but Phichit wasn’t about to complain.

“You shouldn’t have changed,” Seung-gil muttered, cradling the back of Phichit’s head with the hand that wasn’t down his pants. Now that they weren’t drunk, Phichit could almost convince himself that there was some affection in his touch.

Almost.

Phichit laughed, but it didn’t do much to ease the tension. There was no way he could form a coherent argument right now, but he tried. “Pants come up way too high. Not sexy. Expensive.”

Plus, it was already hard enough not to think of this as another bout.

“That’s why it’s hot.” Seung-gil pushed his sweats down to his thighs—which wouldn’t have been possible in his fencing clothes—and Phichit bit back a gasp. Smirking, Seung-gil added, “I really wanted to ruin your knickers.”

Phichit tried to say “weird” but he couldn’t get the word out without stuttering. How could Seung-gil say things like that and still sound so sexy? Then again, he was good with his hands and Phichit was too turned on to care. Two could have played that game if only Seung-gil’s hipster jeans weren’t so damn tight. Being limited to over-the-pants groping left Phichit at a serious disadvantage.

Seung-gil came to his rescue, letting go of Phichit’s neck to yank his open jeans down with one hand. Phichit couldn’t decide if he was more impressed or annoyed, but it didn’t matter. He licked his own hand and Seung-gil moaned before Phichit even touched him. Who was desperate now?

“No piercings?” Phichit could see (and feel) for himself, but joking would keep him from completely losing control. 

“Disappointed?”

“Pleasantly surprised.” It wouldn’t have been a dealbreaker, but he wasn’t about to give Seung-gil the satisfaction of knowing that. Watching their hands made him dizzy, especially when his eyes caught on the black patterns—triangles?—tattooed on Seung-gil’s thigh. If he dropped to his knees, he could get a closer look, and there was so much more he could do from that position...

But he wasn’t going to go there. Not today, not ever.

“Keep telling yourself you’re not into this.” Seung-gil was trying to keep his voice even, but his ragged breathing betrayed his fading inhibitions. Either he was getting easier to read or this was just a feint to get Phichit to drop his guard, too. Phichit didn’t care. Whatever this was, they might as well enjoy while it lasted, because it wasn’t going to leave this room.

Even though Phichit was the fencer (and this wasn’t combat), it was Seung-gil who engaged. On contact, the heat was almost too much. Determined to both ignore the emotions flooding his chest and stave off the rising heat, Phichit said the most eloquent thing he could manage. “Eat a dick.”

“Next time,” Seung-gil said, low and soft. Apparently, Phichit wasn’t the only one fighting off fantasies of what else they could do together. “You need a shower.”

“Touché,” Phichit murmured, unable to resist. Today was definitely going to get it out of his system, but since he was already on a roll, he added, “Next time.”

Phichit wasn’t sure which one of them initiated the kiss that came next, only that it was hard and wet and perfect. They were only going to do this once, so they might as well do it without distracting banter. From there, Phichit lost himself completely, wishing they had a bed or a relationship or at least a wall to lean on—his knees were starting to go weak.

Seung-gil broke the kiss to whisper a few urgent words against Phichit’s cheek and soon they were tugging Seung-gil’s flannel shirt off with one hand each because they really hadn’t thought this through. They barely got the shirt between them in time for Seung-gil, and Phichit couldn’t even joke about lasting longer because Seung-gil’s shaky breaths in his ear finished him off seconds later.

Neither of them spoke in the aftermath, still clutching the flannel between them like a lifeline. Phichit wanted to kiss Seung-gil again, on his lips or his neck, but that would be too much. There was never going to be a next time.

A nagging little voice told him that was all the more reason to kiss him goodbye.

The door creaked before Phichit could make up his mind.

They jumped apart, dropping the shirt and shoving themselves back into their pants as quickly as they could.

“Until next time,” Seung-gil said with a wave. Phichit froze—Seung-gil was down to his T-shirt, sleeve tattoos on full display, but he ducked out the door before Phichit could get a good look at them.

“Hey!” Phichit hissed. “Your shirt!” But it was no use; Seung-gil was already gone and Phichit was running out of time. Praying for a dry spot, he picked up the shirt between two fingers and dropped it in a trash can. He grabbed his bag and slipped out of the room, peeking around the corner to see who had almost caught them. It was a custodian, and Phichit cringed in silent apology for what they had left behind.

Phichit went out of his way to find a (thankfully empty) bathroom to fix his hair, relieved when he saw that he didn't look any more flushed or flustered than he normally would after a match.

He washed and dried his hands, tossing the paper towel in the trash bin just like he had pitched the shirt. A petty part of him hoped it had been Seung-gil’s favorite. It would serve him right for leaving Phichit with it like he was some kind of laundry service.

It wasn’t even a nice shirt. The pattern was ugly and that hideous shade of green didn’t do him any favors. No one would miss it.

Just like Phichit definitely wasn’t going to miss Seung-gil. It was all a game anyway, and like today’s tournament, Phichit had definitely lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! A new chapter! We're earning that M rating! And a Viktuuri reveal! Sorry I cheated on that last one, but I promise I'll catch you up in a future chapter. 
> 
> Anyhow, maybe it's the Ice Ado teaser that has me feeling nostalgic, but I missed this fic. Thanks so much to any returning and new readers. I love each and every one of you. Please take care of yourselves.


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